“Merry Christmas, honey,” my husband said while handing me an overstuffed “Happy Birthday” gift bag. It wasn’t my birthday but, instead, my first Christmas as a mom — in fact, I was only three months postpartum. My mind quickly ran through a list of possible presents that could be contained within the rainbow-hued bag, imagining anything from a new pair of cozy slippers (the pregnancy swelling in my feet had done in my previous pair) to maybe even a piece of jewelry.

“Thank you!” I squealed in excitement. I made a quick attempt at wiping away some of the glitter that had transferred from the gift bag to my hands and dug in. I felt something soft and fuzzy, though too dense for slippers. Maybe a robe? To my surprise, it was a pair of bathroom rugs.

I laughed; I’ll admit it. I thought it was a joke. “Thank you, it’s just what I needed,” I told him, expecting him to laugh in turn. But he didn’t; he actually seemed serious. “I know you wanted new ones,” he explained. “After that thing that happened and all.”

“That thing” he was referring to occurred a day or two after my son and I got discharged from the hospital. My waddling, slowly moving body that had just been sliced open during a C-section was unable to make it to the toilet in time, resulting in all the things that come out of a postpartum woman into a diaper or toilet instead coming out onto our bathroom rugs. So, he was correct — we did need new rugs. But I had purchased some online about an hour after “that thing,” and they had been in place for months now. When I gently reminded him of that, he suggested we keep these as a backup.

It was a bit of a shock. I had gone from getting personal gifts in years prior, such as a sweater or a book I’d had my eye on, to bathroom rugs. You know, in case I accidentally dropped some of my uterine lining onto our current ones.

While it was an odd choice, he had put thought into it. Besides, I reminded myself, I really did have the best gift of all in my son. But I’d be lying if I said that some slippers or a gift card ~in addition to~ my son wouldn’t have been even better.

I assumed the rugs were an anomaly, but it soon became apparent that they were on brand for my new role as a mom. And not just from my husband but also from everyone else around me. Whether it was Christmas, my birthday, or even Mother’s Day, everything I received seemed like it came straight from a wedding registry. And it wasn’t even *my* wedding registry!

The gifts I have received over the following years have included bed sheets (for the guest bedroom, not even for my husband and I to use), a meat thermometer (I’m a vegetarian), a bread maker (I have a severe gluten allergy), and a wide variety of towels. Hand, kitchen, bath… I now have multiples of all. Let me be clear about this: I am not turning my nose up at these presents. I appreciate everything I’ve been given. It’s just truly bizarre that everyone in my life went from giving me personal gifts that, while not always practical, were fun and indulgent, to seemingly viewing me as a household supply closet that needs filling.

And it all started the first holiday after my baby had exited my body. More specifically, when I went from being Becky to the more generic title of Someone’s Mom.

Many women, myself included, struggle with their identity after becoming a mother. Am I still “me”? Do I need to change somehow now that I have a child? Is it possible to remain myself and add motherhood to my life, or does life as I know it disappear and I become solely a mom? These were all questions I struggled with after my son was born, and I know I’m not the only one who has felt this way.

As soon as we have children, it seems society puts us in a box labeled “mom” and pushes us off to the side. We are no longer unique beings, not the artists, athletes, or CEOs we once identified as. We are just moms.

The gifts we receive are one small case in point. We are no longer a person; we are the entire household. By giving birth, we leave ourselves behind and become the whole of our family.

So now, I speak up — and encourage you to do the same. If you love red lipstick, let everyone know you still want to receive that red lipstick on your birthday. Or at least a Sephora gift card! And if you have to make a very specific holiday wish list to remind everyone around you of that, make sure you do it.

That is, of course, unless you actually do need a meat thermometer.

Becky Vieira has been wearing mom jeans since 2016. She writes for a variety of parenting outlets, released her debut book in 2023, and can often be found oversharing intimate details of her life on Instagram. She’s immensely proud of the time she thought to pee in one of her son’s diapers, as opposed to her pants, while stuck in her car. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, son, dog, three cats, and a partridge in a pear tree.