Once upon a time, in the years BC (before children), the idea self-identifying as “someone’s Mom” was not just foreign, but distasteful. To identify oneself as nothing but the appendage of another, to be nothing but “Meena’s mom”, represented an abdication of self. I couldn’t understand why other women would do such a thing.
Now I know it is not something that replaces “me”, but rather augments me. It communicates a little bit about what I have survived. I proves that I’m made of pretty tough stuff.
It also tells the world just how lucky I am.