My Twins Are 4 Months Old ... but I Don't Feel Like a 'Mom' Yet

twins

"Five months! Can you believe you've been a mother for five months?" The short answer is: Nope. The long answer is: I don't feel like a mom. And it is weird when people call me that.

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"Mother" isn't my name. But I am one. I had a full-term and very healthy twin pregnancy (I thank endless servings of green juice with protein powder). My apartment has morphed into a meeting of the Boppies, Bumbos, and Bjorns. And most of all, every morning at 7 a.m. or -- if we’re being totally transparent -- earlier, I'm greeted by my two super smiley, very happy, and well-adjusted babies. So why don't I feel like my new job label fits? 

Amut. #thegrems celebrando las Fallas en #bklyn Mil gracias a la familia Belmonte Vizuete por los bodies personalizados #VLC

A video posted by jenna mahoney (@srajennamahoney) on

Don't misunderstand my feelings. I fell deeply, madly in love with Bunny and Buddy the second I heard them cry in the delivery room. Really. I was so overcome with unbridled joy that I told anyone who would listen what a Behind the Music cliché I had become. (Remember that VH1 docuseries that focused on the life stories of some of rock and pop's biggest names? There was always a point where life changed: becoming a parent.)

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I’m also the full-time caregiver of #theGrems (another moniker for the pair). I organize their feeding and napping. I manage their tummy time, edit their playlists (Bunny loves "That’s Not My Name" by the Ting Tings), and expertly navigate their double-wide stroller around the tourists in our neighborhood park that hugs the East River under the Brooklyn Bridge. I also do all the nighttime waking. 

But whenever the pediatrician’s office calls to confirm the monthly checkups, I have the sensation I’m in that scene from Rebecca when the (second) Mrs. de Winter picks up the phone and doesn’t answer to her new title.

"Is this Buddy and Bunny’s mom?"

Umm ... 

Maybe I don’t feel so mommy-like because I waited so long to be one. Buddy and his sister arrived 26 hours before I turned 40. Or maybe it is because I have always identified myself as an individual. My twitter bio reads: "editor. writer. traveler. author Small Apartment Hacks."  And I rarely introduce myself as Husband's wife, for example. I say, "He is my husband."

Actually, when I married, it took a while for me to call myself a wife. And I most certainly never used the term fiancée. However, unlike when I married, this major life-slash-title change is accompanied with the physical: My C section scar is still quite new, my stomach is a mess of scar tissue, and I swear my hair has more gray strands than ever before. Because I have less sleep and time, my wardrobe has morphed into an edited selection of workout pants and shirts that cover my wider behind. When I (rarely) leave the house without #theGrems, I wonder if my overtired look is an insider Fight Club cue to the fact that I live the #momlife -- and it is real. 

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A few years ago, I joined Flywheel, an indoor cycling studio. During my first few months of riding, I felt like an imposter exerciser. As I started to feel more comfortable in the saddle, I looked out for members of my new tribe. After classes, I'd stop for a quickie run at the local Trader Joe's and give a knowing smile to a fellow red-faced lady chugging a branded water. It helped me feel like I was in the club. I think maybe that’s what I need -- more of a "mommy" aura before I call myself one.

And in my heart, I know that just like my new postpartum pants size, I’ll learn to wear "mom" more comfortably with every day we go forward. Just don’t expect my twitter bio to be updated so soon -- baby steps. 

 

 

Jenna MahoneyJenna Mahoney is a travel editor, a lifestyle writer, and the author of Small Apartment Hacks. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and young twins. Follow Jenna on Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat at @srajennamahoney.




Image via iStock.com/ stevecoleimages

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