In my adolescence, I remember caring so much about wanting to fit in and to be accepted by the “in crowd.” I went to great lengths to make sure my outer appearance was similar to those whom everyone considered cool and popular. I made my mom buy all the trendy brand names, I spent hours each morning making my hair and makeup perfect. By the time I made it down to breakfast, I was exhausted already. I worked so hard to be what I wanted everyone to think I was instead of just being myself, being proud of it and not caring what others thought of me. I never ended up being the most popular girl in school (by the way, who decides something like that?) but I also didn’t do so badly. I was a cheerleader, and the high school quarterback was, in fact, my high school sweetheart. I was also a straight-A student, and active in several honor societies. Outwardly, I made it look simple to get to these points. Inwardly, I approached each entity like its own battle, fighting my way through with all the armor available to me, and not giving up until I advanced by strides.

Once college came around, I started to let go a little of all these wants and needs that I thought would make me happy. I started exploring what it was I really wanted to do in life and I kept a tight-knit group of friends around for moral support. I was exposed to so many social and political groups; certain classes I took opened up my mind, and I became much more accepting of myself and less caring of what people thought of me…until I had kids.

What is it about these tiny, developing humans that make you want to bend over backwards and make an absolute fool out of yourself just to prompt a laugh out of them? I’m not talking about the older, more sophisticated children. I’m talking about my three-year-old son and my one-year-old daughter.

Case and point: a few weeks ago, I walked into my daughter’s room to get her dressed for the day, and I noticed a big, red mosquito bite on her right cheek. I got angry that an insect would poison my poor, innocent baby and I spotted it on the wall just behind her crib. So, like any mature adult, I went after it; smacking the wall with all my might hoping to squash that little bastard that hurt my child. In the meantime, my daughter (who doesn’t even seem to feel the bite on her cheek) is laughing hysterically at me for smacking the wall. I never caught that damn bug, but I continued smacking the walls of our house for the following two days just to get a rise out of my daughter. And it worked every time. From afar, someone would think I was crazy for walking around my house and hitting my walls. But to hear that deep belly laugh that makes my heart swell – it didn’t matter to me what I looked like or what others thought of me. As long as my daughter kept me in her little “club,” where I was considered funny and amusing, that was good enough for me.

My three-year-old has a different type of club these days. It usually involves someone of the male species, and the closer to middle-aged you are, the better. He’s always shown a preference for that sub-type of human, but as he’s gotten older and more intelligent, he’s learned to really make a person either feel completely accepted, or completely rejected. As his mother, I was once an exception to this rule. I mean, come on, I was The Mommy. He loved me more than anyone else in the universe. We were this little bonded unit and I relished in all the cuddles and hugs and “I love yous” he dished out. It made me feel like the most important person in the world and I was on a high just by being the number one member of his club.

One day that all changed. It was a slow progression, most likely having something to do with giving birth to another child and needing to devote more of my time, energy and attention towards the more dependent little human. But little by little, he didn’t want me anymore. He began to replace my number one slot with Daddy. I wasn’t even allowed to do the little things like bathe him or help pick out his clothes. Oh no, it was all delegated to Daddy now. Part of me didn’t want to take it personally. I knew I was his mommy and he would love me forever no matter what. But there have been some days that I felt like I was thrown in a dumpster for good…by a three-year-old. I know he’s only three and he doesn’t really understand all his emotions or how to direct them, but some of the things he’s said to me are like stab wounds to the heart. I was kicked out of his club and I’m still working my way back. I exert a lot of effort, just like in high school, to make him like me. I love on him every chance I get (and as much as he’ll let me); I spoil him with yummy treats; I let him watch TV probably more than I should. And when there’s an inkling of promise that he’s letting me back in his sacred cool club, I start to feel like a million bucks again. I might do or say something funny and when he asks me to do it again, I jump on it and do it like no other peer pressure I’ve ever felt – anything to make him look at me like I’m worthy of his time and play space.

I recently watched a movie starring Meryl Streep called Ricki and The Flash. It wasn’t the best movie but there was a line in it that her co-star Rick Springfield said that has stuck with me. It was something along the lines of, “Who cares if your kids don’t love you, it’s not their job to love you. It’s your job to love them no matter what, and that’s all that matters.” It really resonated with me because I realized I have been focusing on the wrong points with my kids. It’s not about being cool to them or even being part of their club. It’s about doing what I have to do as their mother, knowing and acting upon what’s best for them, and not letting my ego get in the way.

I hope one day when they are much older and independent and can, for the most part, take care of themselves, that they will want to be my friend and include me in their inner circles. But until then, and even if that day never comes, I have to remember that being a mother doesn’t always make me popular. In fact, I will probably be the least popular person in their minds many times throughout this journey of Motherhood. But at least I will stay true to myself and know that I am doing my very best to raise them and of course, I will always love them unconditionally.

And for now, you might still catch me doing odd things like smacking some walls every once and awhile.