Why I’m Proud to Drive a Mini-Van

A Mom-car.

Yes, I drive one.

And not only do I drive one, I’m PROUD to drive one.

At my two-year-old’s gym class recently, a father asked me what I thought of my minivan. I immediately began to extol all of its unending virtues: the electronic sliding doors, 100+ (or so it seems) cup holders, the built-in backseat viewing mirror. Not being the smartest can in the six pack, I talked through several of the features that bring me joy daily before I noticed his eyes glazing over.

What? A man’s eyes glazing over in a conversation about cars?

“I meant…how is it to drive one. I mean, did you feel like you were selling yourself out? A loss of identity?” he asked.

“You mean, because it’s a Mom-car?” I returned, beginning to understand his line of questioning.

His eyes gleamed with recognition. “Yeah, exactly. It’s a Mom car. It’s certainly practical, but my wife is concerned that people will only see her as a Mother.” His tone implied that so would he.

I looked at him with what I hoped was a blank face, hoping that he couldn’t see what was going on in my mind. Because here’s what I was thinking:

Yes, I am a Mother. I chose to have children, and I want the world to know it.

    * I chose to grow outward – through my children – instead of feeding the “me” and growing inward toward my Self.

    * I chose to add more layers and more complexity to my relationship with my husband as he grows as a father and not just as my friend, lover, and companion.

    * I chose to embrace the changes bearing children made to my body: expanded hips, tummy, and shoe size…..in addition to the changes raising children have brought to me physically: hunched shoulders (from holding babies), rough knees (from crawling on the floor with toddlers), and dry hands (from constant bottle-washing).

    * I chose to sing along with the Wiggles instead of trying to instill a love of Maroon 5 in my boys.

    * I chose to make new friends with other Moms while trying to find time to connect with my non-Mom buddies.

    * I chose to create a nightly routine that includes lots of tickles, giggles, stories, and kisses from Mom in exchange for some of my career ambition that required travel, business dinners, and evening conference calls.

Becoming a Mother was a choice. Being a Mother is a choice. And it’s a choice I revel in every day.

All I said was – “You’re right; you can’t beat the practicality of a minivan for young kids. And the image – well, I guess it’s how you look at it.”

And I walked away to do some monkey jumps with my son.