Famous Mommy

I will never be famous. I will never be some big time career lady who does power lunches (whatever those are), and I am certainly not one of those women who people look at and think "how does she do it?" In a world where we are all too often defined by what we do for a living, the ego of a stay-at-home mom can take a beating. This is all to apparent at social events where inevitably the question arises, "And what do you do?" My response is most commonly met with a polite dismissal, a few comments about how he or she could never stay at home followed by an exit to refill a drink or greet someone else (as if they could not conceive of having anything in common with someone who does not "work.")

Of course, I am stereotyping. Not all people are like this, although sadly there is still a huge problem with a person's job title being equated with what their somehow worth. And when you are a mom, especially one who stays home, you find yourself still fighting that, even though you know better. I continually feel like I need to justify myself to people, prove to them I am not some sloth-like person who is just too lazy to have a "real job." (Never mind that my real job, which I do not get paid for, could kick most of their asses on any given day). I find myself wanting the validation though, and since I do not get something concrete like a paycheck this can at times be hard to come by. Then I have to remind myself once more it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks or believes... I know the truth.

The truth is:

I wanted to be the one to kiss every injury and wipe every tear. I wanted to make the lunches and give the baths, and read the books, and play dolls, and restaurant, and fix her hair and help her get dressed, and tuck her in at night, and sing her songs, and take her to school. I even wanted to be the one to deal with her tantrums, and discipline her and teach her wrong from right because that is part of being a parent too.

No, I am not famous, but today I took my daughter sledding. Every time she reached the bottom of the hill in a spray of snow with a grin big enough to rival the Joker on Batman and every time she would yell, "Again!" And I could nod agreement and smile right back and say, "Again" too, because being a mom IS my job title and I didn't have to be anywhere else. Later we came in and baked Christmas cookies together in my kitchen, her little body pressed next to mine on her stool, rolling the balls of dough through the granulated sugar. No, I'm not famous, but in the eyes of my daughter, I am a rock star and that is more than enough for me.