Motherhood and Mustangs

Of all the numerous transitions into new motherhood, why is letting go of my Mustang so difficult?

Becoming a new mom has been an absolute whirlwind. For someone with a Type A personality who plans her life five and ten years at a time, who likes to pretend she has a small amount of control in this vast, ever-fleeting, ever-changing universe, letting go of that idea of control has been surprisingly easy when it comes to my daughter. Out of necessity, our lifestyle is not as much planned out as go-with-the-flow these days. I’ve had no problem rearranging the entire house, transforming my “painting studio” into a baby’s room, or coming to terms with the fact that pretty much every aspect of my body was affected during pregnancy and childbirth. What I did have a problem with was giving up my Ford Mustang. But why?

When I was a teenager, growing up in Texas (this is important, as we Texans are always on the road and driving is a big part of our daily lives), the first car I fell in love with was a Mustang. I’ve always admired sporty cars. When I turned 16, I was in a super fortunate position, and my parents bought a Toyota Corolla S for my brother and I to share. It was a great car, and sometimes, like when leaving the movie theater after seeing The Fast and The Furious or Mission Impossible, I’d try to drive it fast down a winding road and get that adrenaline rush. You see, I’ve always liked to do things fast. I like to overachieve — to beat the goals and smoke the timelines I’ve set for myself. I was a sprinter in middle school and high school, running the 100M, 200M, and 4x100 and 4x200 relays. I love the feeling of testing my own limits. The Mustang, named after the wild and untamed horse, was a symbol of freedom and independence.

Eleven years later, at the age of 27, I was able to purchase the car I dreamed about after years of hard work and saving. (I have to give kudos to the Corolla, which I continued to drive after a break from driving altogether in college and graduate school. It made it 11 years and was still in great shape). Soon, the Mustang became part of my identity and self-expression. Despite liking to test my own limits, I’m a relatively quiet, introverted person who always follows the rules and makes fairly practical decisions that take my long-term goals into account. I think friends, family, and colleagues were surprised to see me in this car, which seemed bold to them. Unbeknownst to me, much like the secret camaraderie between mothers that is only revealed once you’ve become one, I had joined a community of Mustang enthusiasts. Mustang owners are very passionate about their rides, and very friendly to other Mustang drivers. I’ve loved receiving waves and nods from other Mustangs, and even the fun of egging each other on if we happen to meet up at a stoplight and want to test that 0–60mph pickup.

I commute 3 hours round trip to and from work on weekdays, so driving is a big part of my life. Just as it’s been important to me to work for causes I believe in, because we spend so much of our lives at work, it’s been important for me to drive a car I love when I’m spending, at the very least, about 800 hours a year in it.

I also live in the Texas Hill Country, and it’s been just plain fun to drive fast on open roads, take tight turns on winding country roads, kicking up gravel, and to coast up and down through peaks and valleys.

Beyond these reasons, I think what it comes down to is that the Mustang ended up, for me, feeling like that last stand against the stereotypes of motherhood.

I’m 5'11". For nearly a year, I’ve hit my head and bent my back out of shape over and over as I have buckled my daughter into the tiny back seat of my two-door car. I have to move the passenger seat so far forward that no one else can ride with us. But I’ve pressed on until now, without really understanding why. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that the Mustang is just not a very functional family vehicle, especially when the entire family is tall. And I’ve realized this isn’t my final stand. Every mother breaks stereotypes in a variety of ways because it is a unique experience for all of us, and there are no rules.

So, I’m saying a torn farewell to the Mustang, for now. But you can bet you’ll never see me driving a mini-van!