I first recognized my uniqueness as a mom long before I actually became one. There I was, pregnant with a burgeoning belly, battling relentless nausea and a broken rib, wandering the baby section of a Target. I found myself surrounded by bedding, plush ducks, monkeys, and bizarre miniature zoo animals with oversized eyes and tiny bodies, alongside matching curtains and frilly crib accessories I couldn’t even name.
Another expectant mother, stylishly dressed in yoga pants and a fitted top, casually caressing her belly, asked me what my nursery theme was.
“Theme? You mean in life?” I quipped, confused.
She chuckled and clarified, showing me a soft green fabric swatch and a bag of paint cards in calming shades of green.
Ah, the nursery, I thought. Like in ‘Peter Pan,’ where the kids stay in their room all day while the older sibling looks after the little ones, right? She had chosen a whimsical zoo animal theme, complete with little creatures riding a train along the nursery walls. Her mom was even crafting lampshades! I was in awe of these Pinterest-perfect moms, crafters, and decorators. What secret energy source did they tap into? Was it sanity or sleep they had traded for this superpower?
As she shared her elaborate plans, I stood there, fumbling for a response. “I guess I’ll probably get a crib and a changing table. I’ve been browsing Craigslist, but after a guy serenaded my belly with ‘Your Body Is a Wonderland,’ I’m being cautious. And, of course, there will be diapers…”
This moment marked the beginning of countless inquiries about nursery themes. I quickly learned that I could either deflect questions with jokes about my laziness (when, in truth, I was far from lazy) or concoct an extravagant made-up theme. I figured if I claimed my theme was Ryan Gosling, people might forget they even asked.
“You need a theme,” was the constant refrain—color coordination, style, curtains. The pressure mounted throughout my pregnancy. A baby shower? No thanks. Gender reveal party? What even was that? Celebrating anatomy? The thought sent shivers down my spine; being the center of a baby shower felt like a nightmare I’d wake from in a cold sweat.
Eventually, I settled on a celebration I could control. We dubbed it a “Pre-Baby Barbecue,” inviting both men and women, with plenty of alcohol I couldn’t partake in. Guests got tipsy, we avoided traditional baby shower games, and I managed pretty well.
For some, like my mom, who envisioned a grand celebration as I carried a child, my lack of traditional festivities was disappointing. In her eyes, I was the odd one out—every other child of her friends had the full experience. But while I was excited about my baby, I felt no urge to slice into a surprise cake. My child would arrive in a theme-less room, devoid of any color palette.
As I ventured deeper into motherhood, I recognized that I didn’t quite fit in with any specific group of moms. I often felt different (though not always). Don’t get me wrong—these moms were incredible, doing what worked for them. But where were all the other quirky moms? I had always connected with eclectic friend groups throughout my life, each one unique in its own way.
Now, I needed to find my “mom friends,” but I wondered if motherhood had a way of maturing people into responsible adults while I remained unchanged. I still didn’t care about nursery themes or cribs. I hadn’t donned a stereotypical mom haircut or wardrobe—unless you count my unkempt, snack-covered attire.
One grocery trip, with my then-6-month-old baby strapped to me, elicited a sympathetic comment from an older woman. “Oh my, someone must be hungry. He’s adorable! Do you have him every day?”
No, I just borrow him for the joy of grocery shopping with a teething infant, I thought. This wasn’t the first time someone assumed I was a nanny or expressed shock that I had a child. I often felt like an outsider, trying to blend in while keeping quiet about my parenting choices.
I nursed in public, my son was a vegetarian, his hair was long, he didn’t attend a plethora of classes, and for reasons I couldn’t fathom, his favorite song was “Boom Boom Pow.” I faced countless opinions and curious glances. He once hugged a bald man and dubbed him “Buddha,” and he cried during sad songs, clearly inheriting my weirdness.
After my son’s first birthday, I hosted a small gathering, feeling the pressure as friends returned to their themed parties. I included some conventional elements, like a few photos and a smash cake (largely for my own enjoyment). Yet, as I cleaned up the remnants of matching plates and napkins, the internal dissonance surged. Coordinated napkins? It simply wasn’t me.
Ultimately, motherhood didn’t strip away my quirks. While I’m just beginning to connect with other unique moms, I know we’re out there. There are moms still pretending to understand discussions about education funds and those feeling guilty for wanting a night out. Some moms wrestle with feelings of inadequacy, comparing themselves to seemingly flawless counterparts.
Now that I’m further along in this motherhood journey, I’ve become more at ease with my identity as a “weird mom.” Embrace your tattoos, your vibrant hair, your unconventional pets, or your chair-less living room. Keep your CDs of cool songs from the early 2000s, and don’t give up your favorite nights in or out with friends. Watch the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on date night and eat pizza in bed. The quirky moms are all around, wondering if they also missed the memo on fitting in.
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Summary:
This article explores the author’s experience as a uniquely quirky mom who feels out of place amidst traditional motherhood expectations. From nursery themes to baby showers, she reflects on her journey of embracing her individuality while seeking out other like-minded mothers. Ultimately, she affirms that motherhood doesn’t strip away one’s quirks but rather gives space to celebrate them.