I really think that I may well be a stuck up mom. I don’t mean in that annoying way that my children are better than everybody else’s, though of course they are, but in the manner that dictates my compulsive need to not be singularly identified as a mother.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that though I am a mother and my world revolves around my children’s wants and needs, as well as my ego being wrapped in their trials and tribulations, that’s not all I am. I practice martial arts, ride a mountain bike recklessly over obstacles that would make most people consider their mortality, play rugby and rock climb. I’m more likely to be seen sporting a skinned knee than skinny jeans. I seriously doubt any of these other mothers do anything remotely close to the extracurricular activities which make me feel alive.
I’m not used to hanging out with moms and I fear that associating with other moms makes me less me; as if befriending other mothers makes me pedestrian. I have to somehow figure out how to balance being a mom and my slightly irrational need for dangerous stimuli. No, that’s denial at its most ridiculous. I must figure out how to stop projecting my fears of losing myself completely in my children, because that would be easy to do, onto to what are most likely wonderfully fascinating women. I am judging them exactly in the manner that I myself do not want to be judged- as just someone’s mother.
Sometimes I get up and around in the morning, fully aware of the progressive discomfort of pregnancy, and yet my mind still inadvertently begins planning the awesome workout I’m going to do full of plyos and tire flipping. Then I remember I can’t put on my own shoes so I eat a whole bag of Funyuns instead. I have an all or nothing personality.
I was training for my first amateur mma fight when my husband and I found out I was pregnant, so my workout regiment was intense and my diet was strict. I still go to the dojo to train when I feel well enough and I still lift weights (all activities modified of coarse for being six months prego), but now I’m trying to make baby weight, not fight weight.
I feel compelled to begin this blog by defining what constitutes a tomboy mommy. I have been procrastinating writing this post because it requires I examine myself on a level that depletes the creative force behind writing fun things about being a tomboy and a mom. Let’s make a deal; I promise to define what it means to be a tomboy mommy through regular posts of my experiences and insights and together we’ll draw some sort of conclusion as to what what the title of this blog means. By a show of follows, who is with me?