Some women are Mama Bears.
Me? I’m a Frazzled Bear.
Shortly after joining my Insta-Family, my youngest started calling me “Bear.”
I had never pushed my (step)children to call me anything but “Jyl.” They already had a mom, after all, and I wasn’t one to grab a catchy secondary version of that word.
Bonus Mom? Pass. Mummy? Pass. Madre? Pass.
When “Bear” popped up it was, well, odd.
Where in the world did that come from?
As “Bear” was heard more frequently in our home, we decided to run it by our counselor. Without a second thought, we were given a quick rundown as to its significance.
The moniker was about fitting a second maternal figure (me) into their (the kids’) lives while still honoring their biological mother. It was a subconscious right of passage all about acceptance and love.
And so while my government name is Jyl … Bear is who I am.
Because it’s me. I’m frazzled.
Evidently, feeling frazzled is also a right of passage into motherhood.
This is my second round as a writer – though my first successful one. Just after college, I abandoned writing after muffing a few obituaries. It was an honest mistake but 22-year-old me took it to heart.
Much (much) later, I picked up my pen again … only to learn that we were now using computers to write.
I guess that whole internet thing really took off.