“Before I became a mother” What a weird and wild notion for me to think about. For one, I’m 4 years into this momming gig and I still sometimes startle when I ponder on the fact that I have 2 kids and that i am, indeed, their mother. I'm someones mom! For another thing, thinking about the years before I became a mom is such a landslide of memories and emotions. I think of how funky and weird and hopeful and spontaneous i was pre-kids. But also how self-doubting and oddly addicted to kale I was. Kale was really big in 2014 in Davis California! Lots of barefoot days and colorful wigs.
At any rate, even in my younger days I very much knew I was meant to be a mother. Without a doubt motherhood is a piece of my reason i am here on this earth. I have cared for children and babies my whole life with love and joy. Babies are the best people in my opinion and toddlers are so honest to their emotions and ridiculously truthful. I just love kids and I’m good at the caregiver stuff no lie! But still, i wasn’t prepared for the full body/mind/soul experience of new parenthood. (Almost) nobody is! I had visions of being a “perfect” mom who does everything right all the time. Somehow I would be the very first person in history to do everything right parenting-wise! I wasn't full of myself or high on diaper cream, I just genuinely didn't realize the extent to which motherhood would change me and my reality.
What a titty slap to the face when motherhood blessed my life and my hot mom fever dreams faded slowly to cold-ass oatmeal 9 days in the pot. I mean, I was pretty damn sure I was going to be a hot mom. Or at least maybe a quirky sorta skanky mom with cute outfits. Absolutely I knew deep in my soul that motherhood was not going to close my booty shorts or mini skirt chapters. Was it?!?! And actually i assumed getting fully dressed in a snug, nursing-cleavage revealing dress and boots was going to happen if not daily, then at least weekly. While also caring for my baby 24/7. And working. And cleaning my house. And cooking from scratch. And making all her toys and clothes and dolls. And gardening. And maybe foraging a chanterelle or 20. Wheewwwwwwww! Just pop a boob out and feed the baby and keep it moving! Hot mom express!
I probably don’t need to tell you that more or less none of those things came to realization in my early mothering days. I mean, I wasn’t sleeping, like, at all. I was nursing a painful birth injury. I was overproducing for a baby that wouldn’t latch. My man had to go back to work immediately. And I was slowly crawling towards a postpartum anxiety/depression diagnosis. And oh yeah, I was pregnant again only 6 months postpartum. So yeah, I wasn’t doing a ton of scratch cooking or foraging or sewing cute organic dolls. I was more or less in survival mode. Loving my daughter and trying to keep myself alive. Which, btw, I was lucky enough to have one of those instant soul connections with my daughter. Like from the moment she popped out the water slide to earth I was completely head over heels in love with her. Couldn’t stop kissing her and smelling her head (still to this day lol). But yet i was struggling so hard and my mental health was in the toilet.
I will spare you the full story which is very raw and I hold it incredibly close, but the 9.5 months of my pregnancy with this new baby was a wild rollercoaster of anxiety, working, panic attacks, acceptance, tears, seeking help, finding my real people, medication, discovery, pain, learning and asking for help again and again and again. I spent many sleepless nights in the lukewarm bath talking to my baby and getting out to go nurse my other baby all night long. I cried a lot. I talked a lot to all my people. I decided to trust myself and my babies. I worked through the most intense intrusive thoughts of my life and learned to cope. It was such a tough time, but also such an beautiful time spent with a lot of questions about who I am and who I want to be for my children. This pregnancy with this new spirit was showing me that it was time to accept myself and my reality and break down and just show up as my own self.
I decided that I had to let go of all my ideas about the kind of mother i thought i should be, and turn with (shaky) confidence towards who I actually am. Which is a woman that is most decidedly not perfect but more than anything values the real and actual truth of who she is and who her children are. And that is a woman who actually doesn’t give a fuck about cooking and will always favor wearing a good pair of booty shorts. Being not perfect is the best! Not pretending like I like to cook is rad!
And this part of the story is where vintage (finally) comes into play. After my 2nd daughters’ birth I was still in the depths of postpartum anxiety and living a wild life nursing 2 kids 24/7 with very little material support. My man is an incredible father and a supportive partner but that dude also works more or less constantly to keep the lights on for us. I was home with the girls full time and doing odd jobs. So, it was mostly me and my babies all the time. Doing our mama/babies thing. Walks. Nursing. Alternating naps. Alternating babies fighting their naps. More nursing. Kisses and snuggles and MORE nursing and where was I in all this? My time for “me time” was extremely limited. I danced when I could and that was it. Until Willow was about 8 months old and I had a bright idea to make a little bit of cash by selling a couple things from my vintage clothing collection. We needed the money, and I couldn’t quite button that rad Gunne Sax skirt of mine anymore. And I had a few more really cool true vintage things that I thought could bring us some cash. So I asked my man to help me photograph a couple things one Sunday and I made a plan to set up an Instagram page. I decided to call it Panther Creek Road after the dusty dirt road I grew up on.
My vintage gig was extremely slow going at first! My dumb ass thought it was going to be “so easy!” And i greatly underestimated the simple amount of time anything would take. Combine that with the fits and starts of working while exhausted in between naps and nursing and roseola and thrush and therapy and I kind of can’t believe I kept up with it? It was impossible many days to do much more than just throw a load in the washer! I kept at it though. And some magic really started happening when I would model the clothes myself. I would put the babies to nap then rush to brush my hair and put on mascara and get some photos in a groovy dress. I took the photos on my porch and the mailman often walked up while I was in the middle of shooting and bless him he never acted weird about it at all. Inevitably one or both of my children would wake up all too soon and they would play at my feet and be goofy while i finished up. Needless to say, my Instagram growth was so slow. Like iceberg slow. It kind of still is?!
But when I saw the photos of myself in the amazing vintage clothes it was as though I remembered who I was. Which was a bitch who loves to feel sassy and sexy! I could see that goofy old old mini-skirt-wearing-slightly-skanky lady in there! And then when I would see the photos of me and my kids while i was “working” I suddenly found a tiny drip of pride and strength for realizing how far I had come. Damn. My girls were seeing me doing something I love. They were seeing my confidence grow and seeing my passion come alive. They were also getting little sticky hands all over the clean clothes so I had to wash them again, but i digress!
Thats why my connection to selling and collecting vintage clothing is so inextricably tied to coming into my own as a woman and mother. I never saw myself selling vintage for long-term, but it was just exactly what i needed, when I needed it. I couldn’t quit! I was committed to my customers and to myself. So slow going as it was, I kept at it and kept it real with you all. When the pandemic hit I took a break for a bit like we all did. But within weeks I could see how much I needed to get back to selling. Besides having bills to pay I needed the creativity and the outlet of connecting to others who love this old stuff like i do! The modeling, the photos, the descriptions, the connections to clients, the conversations with old folks passing on their beloved items: I love it all and it all reminded me just what i’m made of and what I can do.
These days i’m much more accepting of myself as the real and whole person who is both a mother and a person unto herself. Though I’m not sure I should accept my need to have Dunkins everyday or to swear in front of my kids??? But ya know what? Its fine. Its a journey. I ain't perfect! My girls are being raised by a mom who wears daisy dukes and old man sweaters and who loves them a lot and will encourage them to show up as themselves to this crazy world. Its vintage mom season and we ride at dawn to the estate sale babies!
With love from Panther Creek Road,
Glenna