While our daily lives may look different, as working mothers we share similar experiences and moments of joy, pride, guilt, disappointment, and sheer exhaustion. Occasionally, in a moment of maternal intensity and clarity, we experience a truth that changes our relationship with our children forever. Such a moment occurs when we look at our children for the first time for who they are, not who we want them to be.  When a woman first discovers that she’s pregnant,  many thoughts rush through her mind – will it be a boy or a girl, who will the baby look like, will he like football, will she get into Harvard?  Ah yes, Harvard…or in my case, Stanford (closer to home).  We want the best for our children, but just what does that mean?  How do we know what’s “best?”  As a type A, over-achieving, working mother with two careers, two children, and one husband (thank goodness there aren’t two of those!), the challenge is not how to encourage my daughters to lead fulfilling lives, but how not to pressure them too much.  Much has been written lately about the Tiger Mother and the concomitant backlash of the Laidback Mom who raises ‘happy’ children, though it’s not so black and white. We’ve worked hard, earned our way through our careers; we strive to achieve a sense of work-life balance, to be good citizens, mothers, and wives, and we want the same for our children.  From a very young age, my eldest daughter has assumed that she would have a career, just like Mommy. As a pre-teen now, she struggles to determine how many careers she can have – actress, teacher, lawyer, judge.  How could I tell her that she can’t have them all? I wouldn’t dare. 

My moment of clarity, an ‘epiphany’ if you will, occurred one sunny day on the soccer field when my daughter was 6. She was mid-field, running with the ball toward the goal with a fierce determination on her face.  She demonstrated a tenacity that I never had at that age.  She was in the zone.  In that moment I felt a sort of detachment, observing her not as my child, but as truly her own person, independent of me and my aspirations for her.  I realized that a mother’s role is not to mold a child toward a certain path of our own desires, but to encourage their heart, to reach their best destiny.  I have never looked back from that moment, though I still wonder in amazement at the development of the young adult who was once so dependent and fragile.  And I am in awe of her athletic ability, not because she is my daughter, but because she comes by it so naturally. When aspirations give way to true love we realize that our children are borne of us, but they are not us.

The trash bags full of empty plastic bottles had been piling up in the garage for months, so I was relieved when my husband and eldest daughter left for the recycling center last weekend.  When I called a little later, eager to find out how much money they got, my husband responded, “exactly $23.80…” and then, with great pride in his voice, “ and your daughter promptly turned around and gave all the money to a homeless man nearby.”  In addition to her athletic ability, she was born with an innate sense of social justice.  She’s the one who once told me, as I pulled her hand tightly when we passed by a disheveled homeless woman on the street, “Mommy, they’re people like you and me.”  She would make a fine teacher indeed.

My 5 year old has demonstrated a mind of her own since a very young age, as if I needed to be reminded not to repeat my misconception of personhood the second time around. She is often heard saying, “I am my own person.”  This is usually in response to her sister’s insistence on braiding her hair every morning or my attempts to persuade her to wear pants.  Needless to say, our weekday mornings are full of plenty of reminders that my role as a mother is great, to be sure, but not without its limits.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once, I was an independent young woman, dreaming of my future career and family.  Once, I was pregnant, with new dreams of raising my daughters to be strong and self-confident. Now I am the Mom who holds their hands, though not too tightly, as we live our best destiny --  theirs, mine, and ours.