Elliott’s Mom
“Hey, Elliott’s mom …”
“Motherhood is just another dimension of your identity, not your entire identity. ”
“Would you be able to …” Her voice trailed off in my mind as she continued to speak.“ While I am, in fact, Elliott’s mom, it wasn’t until that moment when someone had vocalized it that I had to center myself in acknowledging that much of my identify is wrapped up in me being my son’s mom. While I absolutely ADORE being his mom, it led me to consider how much of Cadacia has been overshadowed due to overconsumption of being “Elliott’s mom.” I continued to mentally consider who I am currently, who I was before him and how those two people converged. Had I taken the time to reflect on this two short years ago, my answer would have sounded very differently than it currently does.
Elliott’s mom of 2020 was over consumed with all of the overwhelming tasks of being a first time mom. It was a blurry period saturated in stained onesies (all up the back side), formula stains throughout my bed and spilling out from the crevices of my couch, ice cubed trays filled pureed sweet potatoes, carrots and green peas piling high in my freezer, 6 am diaper change and feeding routines, racing through the hallway by 6:45 and cramming in a story before sweeping my very unkept fro into a head wrap to look presentable for my 7:30am virtual meeting. It was a time where thoughts raced through my mind regarding the things I could do to separate the mom from the woman, figuring out how I might try to continue to fulfill the role as girlfriend while making space for my friendships to not dwindle and trying to schedule calls with family. It was a time of theoretically making time for so many other things that were not baby related, yet, realistically, only finding time for him. “Elliott’s mom” would have totally sufficed for the late 2019- 2020 version of me.
Cadacia of 2022 makes time to spend an hour in God’s presence before little Elliott or the sun wakes. She has time to savor the taste of piping hot coffee directly after it has been freshly brewed. She carves out three hours per week to lift weights and run on the treadmill. She has friend dates where she is not watching her watch as a means of counting down until it is time to sprint out of the door to get to her “baby.” She is in tune with her emotions and thoughts. She journals. She schedules regular hair appointments, manicures and massages. She looks familiar. She looks like Cadacia, the woman who existed long before Elliott did.
So, during the following week’s session, the instructor glides across to me in the water after tossing a handful of plastic frogs to scatter across the pool. “Hey, Elliott’s mom! What’s your first name by the way?”
To which I reply “Cadacia.”
She smiles as she confesses that she only inquires the names of the parents that she really likes. Otherwise, parents are simply referenced as “___________’s mom.” I’m relieved that I had a week to process who Elliott’s mom is in contrast with who Cadacia is before her asking for my name. The truth is I’m comfortable being both. More than that, I feel like I’m doing a damn good job at being both and I love this for me.
