Years and years ago I told family and friends that I didn’t want my own kids. I might have been 14; people thought I was crazy and I’d change my mind.

Through high school, my long-time boyfriend and I talked about the fact that neither of us wanted kids, so we planned our adult lives. He and I married; we got cats; we divorced; he took his cat; I still didn’t want kids.

I met Coop in 2011 and though we fell in love fast. Neither he nor I wanted kids, and we were planning a long life of beach volleyball, sunsets with a bottle of wine, and sleeping in on Sundays. Life and timing were “off” and we didn’t stay together. I had some healing to do and he had some oats to sow. I won’t go too much into the hows and whos and whats, but his sowed oats are our Moo.

After Moo was born, Coop was single again, and I was healed, we decided to see if maybe life and timing were closer to “on” this time. They were. My first requirement for dating Coop & Moo was that I was dating both of them. Coop and I agreed immediately that “if baby doesn’t love me, this won’t work.” Baby loved me.

Overnight, I stepped in as a part-time Mom. Weeks later Moo would cry for me in the night. Months later she would snuggle into bed on my side. Years later she is one of my best buds.

I fold tiny pairs of undies, I match hundreds of size 13 black socks, I have a bathtub full of small plastic friends, I catch “gwoss” food in my hand, I clean beard hairs from my sink regularly, I cook “NOODLES!” and chicken and vegetables for three. There are days when I worry I’m not cut out to be a mom; I read that’s normal. There are days I still don’t want to be a mom; I read that’s normal. There are days when I cry more than my three-and-a-half year old; I read that’s normal, too.

HOWEVER, the days when Moo tells me that I’m her “best Sarah,” when she snuggles her little head into the crook of my neck, or when she grabs my hand as we skip toward the park make the tears, undies, and noodles completely worth it.


My bathroom is not a grown-up spa retreat. My king-sized bed regularly has a half-dozen “stuffies” in it. Dinosaur stickers are better than money in my house. I find crumbs everywhere.

I’m the mom I thought I never wanted to be.

I can’t imagine anything better.

2 thoughts on “Choices

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