The Mommy Identity Crisis
For the most part, I’ve always been a pretty confident person, with a solid and ever-evolving sense of my own identity. In my youth, it was easy for me identify myself with the activities I was in. I was a dancer and a skier; I played the flute, piccolo, and alto sax; I sang in choir and was involved in theater — your typical artsy band geek. After college, my identity became intertwined with my profession, as often happens with adults. Think about it: the first thing you say to someone you’ve just met is, “Hi Bob, nice to meet you. So, what do you do?” After I had my daughter, I was faced with redefining my identity. The question, “So, what do you do?” elicited a completely different answer.
For 14 years before my baby was born, whenever I heard that question, I had responded happily, “I’m a graphic designer.” When I went back to college, I found myself adding modifiers such as, “I’m a graphic designer, but I just went back to school to pursue my master’s in communication and conflict management.” Either answer sounded respectable and well defined. In one case, I was a working professional; in the other, I was a working professional pursuing another career. It was easy for me to say and something I was proud of, and it was easy for other people to understand. Although evolving, my identity was still based on my professional life.
When I became a mom, however, my credentials in the working world were tossed out with the delivery room sheets. Everywhere I went for the first 17 months of my daughter’s life, she was attached at my hip (more accurately, my breast, but that’s another story). Now when I met people, I was introduced in a way that identified which kid I belonged to. Instead of asking me what I did for a living, other parents said, “Nice to meet you, Karla. Which children are yours?” My response: “Nice to meet you, Mary. I’m Antonia’s mom.” I began thinking about that. I was no longer known in my circles of other mom friends as “Karla the Graphic Designer” but instead as, “Karla the Mother of Antonia.”
Evidently, when you become a mother, you are stripped of your professional identity and instead labeled with which of the screaming rug rats in the playgroup is yours. (This qualifier becomes particularly important when the child’s diaper needs to be changed, as in, “Whoa! This baby is really stinky. Which one of you is Antonia’s mom?”)
One day while surfing the Web (undoubtedly, while my un-stinky baby was napping), I came across a site that was promoting “mommy cards”. That’s right. To my shock and amazement, I discovered that I could actually order what looked like a business card, but instead announced:
complete with little swirls of pastel colors and cartoon animals.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
“Socialize in style with Mommy Cards” boasted one website. SERIOUSLY? Socialize in style wearing your mom jeans and t-shirt with spit-up stains? Clearly, this whole mommy identity thing is a profitable business.
Why did I need mommy cards? I wondered. Was it because even though I had been robbed of my professional identity, I could still FEEL like I had some kind of authority in the world? I imagined handing these out to other moms on the playground. “Hi, I’m Karla, Antonia’s mom. Let me give you my mommy card so we can arrange a play date. Sorry the card is damp. My container of breast milk must have leaked all over the diaper bag.”
It’s tough to have no professional identity to speak of, but I’m not that desperate. Yet.
After five years in the business of being Antonia’s mom, I’m still hopeful that one of my hard-earned degrees and years of experience (doing things other than vacuuming and putting away toys) will eventually lead me back to a lucrative career. That’s a card I’d be willing to hand out on the playground…with a handwritten note on the back to identify which kid is mine.