Growing up in the suburbs, I've always equated the idea of motherhood with SUV's, home-cooked meals, and the dreaded mom jeans (or worse, ill-fitting khaki capris and running shoes. Together). Even though my own mother was extremely fashionable and worked full-time, most of my friends' moms were entirely too involved in their kids' lives and defined themselves purely by their role as mother. As a result, I spent a good part of my twenties swearing that I would never have kids, then relenting and swearing I would never have kids before 30. In my mind, it felt like becoming a mother meant I would be forced to join the ranks of the poorly dressed and uncool. I recognize now how silly and even judgmental that made me, but for a young, twenty-something in Austin, TX (where identity is EVERYTHING), mama was a four-letter word. It meant a house in a master-planned community and the end of my social life. It meant spitup-stained chinos and a DVD player in my car that aired &qu
Balancing my role as mother, wife, teacher, and rebel.