I am mom, hear me roar

The past week, Twitter and the blogsphere has been blowing up about mom-wars. Here's my response.

Me, the Lil' Cupcake and my mom in Kauai last Christmas


Initiation is nine months, hours of painful labour, teething and sleepless nights. Building a family, raising a child and harbouring fond memories of each delicate moment is the invisible reward in which we seek.

My uniform is simple, a ponytail, comfortable Toms and whatever clean clothes are seen first when I stumble from the bed. My weapon of choice, a classic tote slung over the right shoulder ready with an arsenal of equipment for any climate, season or mishap. I am Mom.

I wear split-up, snot and slobber as a badge of honour. I often have smears, smudges and unidentifiable messes on my clothes. They are my battle wounds that I wear proudly and signify that I am a member of the not-so-secret society of warriors. I am Mom.

There is no special handshake or card; we are identified by the babies on our hips, the small hands in our hands, and the pictures on our phones.

We are gold card carrying member of the Starbucks club, Tim Horton's or Second Cup, which help us stay awake. We drink coffee like a champ and can pee faster than Michael Phelps can swim a lap. I have hearing that can put a dog to shame, and have hugs that can stop crying in midstream. We are Moms.

My little hawaiian princess. Photo by Modern Twist Photography

The future holds many decisions, lessons and rewards. The unknown is scary and exciting. Each milestone reached, each obstacle achieved, and every problem solved brings exhilaration only known by a mom.

With a nod and a smile, we are the same. Some will judge, others will snicker, but respect should be mutual. In the end, we all have a common goal: to raise happy and kind little people. No matter the choices we have each made for our little humans, we have made the best decisions for us.

Respect is mutual. We are the voices for our children, and we are Moms.