Identity | Offbeat Mama

This is Offbeat Mama's archive of Identity posts.

Explorations of how our pre-baby identities shift and morph and blend into our post-baby realities.

Most Recent Posts About Identity

Photo by catherine.

I've always been quite comfortable with who I am as a person. I like myself. I like other people (for the most part) and I'm very proud to be a woman.

When I accidentally on purpose became pregnant, my other half and I were over the moon. We had some wider family stuff going on at the time that necessitated keeping it quiet for the solid three months but we literally couldn't wait to let people know that our awesome little family of two was going to get a new member of the gang. We were secretly high fiving each other all the time.

I love being pregnant. I've been lucky, it's all been pretty smooth. As a disabled woman it was the physical aspects of being preggo that I worried about the most. So when my identity as a woman and a mother suddenly became public property it took me a little by surprise.

Five months ago, I took one of our twelve suitcases out of storage, dusted it off, opened it up, and crammed in all my clothes, three photo albums, my mom's journals, a bag — (ok, fine, three bags) — of assorted hair and makeup products that I had collected before leaving Los Angeles, the soft zebra dress my daughter wore as a baby, and the tiny cotton onesie with the sheep parading up and down the middle that my son wore for the first month after he was born… and I left the kibbutz.

I was six years old, and that was my reality. One day we were a family of three, and the next, four, and later, five. Pregnancy skipped a generation in my family. While I vaguely understood how other people's babies might be welcomed into the world, I believed my existence began at day three when I entered my family. Offices were where I came from and were where you went to get siblings. In fact, it wouldn't be years until I witnessed pregnancy firsthand by watching my co-worker's belly grow daily.

The first time it happened, I was at a Mothers of Multiples Club welcome brunch. My fantasy was that my terror of the impending birth of my twins would dissipate as soon as I met the wise kindred spirits who would be guiding me through the transition to multiple-motherhood. Much to my surprise, however, brunch soon descended into a partner-bashing session, replete with the kind of ominous warnings I would receive over and over during my pregnancy.

"…and here we have another baby," said the ultra-sound technician in a way-too-calm voice.
"No." I said.
"Yep — twins," she said, and continued, measuring length and heart beats, while pure panic enveloped my brain and I searched the room for some sign that I was dreaming. You know like if the ultra-sound tech suddenly handed me a math test that I hadn't studied for. That would've been awesome.

Isn't it interesting how we struggle with our own identities through our children? We want them to be like us. By that, I mean, our vision of who we are — you know, all the good stuff. I know that as my own daughter has grown and developed her unique sense of self, her individuality, her very strong-willed personality, I have always looked for those moments of me in her.

Apparently Lady Gaga, Oprah Winfrey, and Deepak Chopra were all in Harvard Square on February 29th for the launch of Lady Gaga's Born This Way foundation. I was in Harvard Square, too, but I didn't catch a glimpse of them. I was there just for the fifteen minutes it took me to FedEx a book back to a client. Then I got home and discovered that a chunk of the proofread I had just mailed was still sitting on my desk. My desk isn't even very crowded (for me, anyway), but I had cleverly separated out the last section of the book to cross-check against the earlier sections, and that turned out to be a bad plan because no one wants their proofread back with the last 20 pages missing. I couldn't believe it. I had never done anything like this before. How could it have happened?

I have no idea what happened. One minute, I was boiling with the need to have a baby, staring melty-eyed at little ones in the street. The next, I was cold and empty. The desire had extinguished itself, leaving hollow indifference in its place. I riddled over what force possessed the power to do this. Perhaps it was a particularly difficult babysitting session with a screamy, parent-missing girl. Or maybe a heartfelt conversation about parenting with my partner.

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Offbeat Mama supports and celebrates parents and caregivers who are moving beyond mainstream visions of parenting. We welcome anyone who's interested in families, whether you're pre-parental, in the process of becoming a parent, or choosing to live childfree. Got a story or tip? Email us!

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