Then kindergarten hit: a new school, new teachers, new kids and a whole new crop of mamas. Elementary school is the big leagues. I came in hot: PTO, volunteering and room mom through third grade.
The more involved I became, the more people knew whose mama I was. Everywhere I went: "Hi, Amaya’s mom!" At first, I thought it was cute. But, after a while, I started thinking: Does anybody around here know my actual name?
A lot of mothers know the feeling. Somewhere along the way, your name becomes your relationship to the little person beside you. Around that time, I visited my brother in Louisiana.
He had a hat with his nickname on it. I thought: This is the answer. Across the front, in giant letters: EMERI.
Underneath, much smaller: AMAYA’S MOM. It reminded everybody—including me—that, before I was Amaya’s mom, I was Emeri. The hat became my calling card at school events and pickup.
When I checked Amaya out, I’d point at it. They’d laugh and call her. Slowly, "Amaya’s mom" became "Mrs.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
