As I cruise by, I catch a glimpse of her ponytail swinging with each determined step. Her hand rests on the jogging stroller, her pace measured as she pushes herself and a 50-pound bundle of cranky joy up that incline. I spot her toddler, snug in a blanket, clutching a sippy cup he’s bound to toss out of the stroller at least 15 times during the run. The look on her face—a mix of determination and sweat—speaks volumes about the effort it took for her to find 30 minutes to prioritize her own needs amidst the chaos of motherhood.
I recognize her all too well, as I was once in her shoes. Back when my little ones were tiny, I nearly lost my sanity to the monotony of nap times, endless laundry, and toddler tantrums. As the primary caregiver, I bore the brunt of daily parenting duties. My husband did his best after work, but most evenings, I’d collapse on the couch, overwhelmed and weary, mindlessly watching TV until he nudged me to sleep. There was never a moment for myself—no time for a yoga class to clear my head, and chasing after my toddler did little to slim my mom hips or C-section scars. Though I was in my late 20s, I felt ancient. Climbing stairs or playing at the park left me breathless.
But hey, I was a mom, and wasn’t putting myself last part of the deal? A friend of mine disagreed and urged me to join her one warm summer evening for a jog through our suburban streets. Skeptical yet intrigued, I agreed—especially since she promised a glass of wine afterward.
That first run was a disaster. I huffed, puffed, and muttered expletives as I lagged behind my more fit friend. When we finally finished, she flushed with excitement and said, “Wasn’t that exhilarating?” I rolled my eyes, but as I limped through the door, I realized my husband had already handled bedtime.
Maybe running had its perks after all.
Throughout that summer, I made a conscious effort to carve out time for myself. I transformed into the mom with the ponytail bouncing behind me, navigating the world with that jogging stroller. I became the mom who packed snacks, sippy cups, and energy gels, all while dealing with tantrums and dropped toys along the way. I found myself at busy intersections, wondering why drivers weren’t more considerate of a mom just trying to jog safely. And oh, the hills! Each ascent felt like a monumental struggle as my toddler shrieked for home.
Most importantly, I became the mom who learned that taking time to nourish myself and my spirit wouldn’t lead to the apocalypse.
So now, as I drive past the mom in her vibrant running tights and cap, I want her to know that I see her. I see the effort it took to dress her little one, the wrestling match to get him into the stroller while he protested for more screen time. I can almost feel the weight of that first mile, where the stroller feels like an anchor, and I understand the temptation to head home instead of pushing through.
I notice the gentle grip on the stroller handle as she navigates potholes and debris. I remember how sweet it feels to coast downhill, reveling in the momentary relief from the weight she’s pushing. Most importantly, I see her strength, and I can’t help but smile as I pass by. And when I glance in the rearview mirror, I catch the satisfying look on her face—it’s the unmistakable expression of a badass mom who knows exactly what she’s doing.
In the end, it’s a reminder that whether you’re navigating motherhood or considering options for family planning—like checking out resources on pregnancy at Mount Sinai or exploring home insemination kits at Make a Mom—you’ve got this.
Summary
This piece celebrates the resilience of mothers who prioritize their well-being, drawing on personal experiences to highlight the challenges and triumphs of juggling parenting and self-care. It encourages recognition of the strength in taking time for oneself amidst the chaos of raising children.