It's inevitable. One day, when you're driving the minivan you swore you'd never own, you'll look down at your comfortable yet stylish athleisurewear and put a hand to your topknot and it'll hit you: am I a soccer mom now? How did this happen?
You may have been the first one to throw your bralette onto the stage at a Sublime concert in 1999, but today you are something different. For it was not just your baby born in that delivery room, but this very version of yourself. It was written in your blood that you should be here, bopping your head to Alanis Morissette, confidently driving a gaggle of 8-year-old children in satin jerseys over the school's endless speed bumps.
We could try to fight our fate, sure. But at the end of the day, destiny has a way of finding you regardless, so why bother? So just relax, take a breath, and swing by the Starbucks drive-thru as you go soccer balls-to-the-wall toward this new stage in your life — or whatever else kind of balls-to-the-wall defines your particular Saturday.
So lean in, own it, and find your people, who are undoubtably one (or all) of the following:
There are a few key tells that let the world know that, yes, your child spends their Saturday morning running the length of a soccer field for an hour and yet still, somehow, have the energy to destroy your living room by Sunday evening. The giant soccer ball magnet on the back of your Subaru, the insulated tumbler that had Soccer Mom written on it (with balls for the Os, natch) to every PTA meeting.
Oh sure, it may have started because you felt bad that your kid wasn't doing any extracurricular activities and this one seemed like the one that involved the least level of commitment and expensive equipment. But slowly it began to change you. Now you have a countdown for the next World Cup running on the background of your phone at all times (less than three years to go!).
If you live in the northern Midwest this is just the default mom. At home you're warm and encouraging. But at game time something... changes. Gone is the warm and cuddly woman at the dinner table. This is the home of Hockey Mom, who has developed Hulk-like strength from years of lugging all that equipment to and from practices. Hockey is her religion, the rink her temple, and the gods of the puck can only be appeased with the other team's blood, which she will scream for. (But no hard feelings, dontchaknow!)
When the game is over she'll go right back to kindly offering another helping of casserole.
You have two wardrobe options: on your way to the gym or "Going To The Club" Light. Either way, you are never not Instagram ready. Go ahead, let people mistake your femininity for weakness or frivolity. Let them mock the enormous bow you wear to games and competitions in solidarity with the squad (you've never met a giant bow you didn't like). You know that femme ain't frail and that your tumbling offspring is basically perfectly polished little ninjas whom no one would ever suspect.
You almost certainly live or have lived in the South.
Dance Team Mom
See above, but also you get into low-key super-dramatic fights with the other team moms via text.
Little League Mom
You like baseball (or softball) just fine but, if you're being really honest with yourself, you're mainly here for the uniform. Because OMG look at their tiny little hats. Look at the itty-bitty cleats! They're so cute. You gladly pay the exorbitant prices for portraits, as these pictures will be displayed in your home for decades, embarrassing your kid in front of dates for years to come.
On your way to dance class, you definitely swing by a coffee shop to grab a latte as you listen to NPR. You like to think of yourself as above the title of "sports mom," but deep down you know that when it comes down to it you're just a sports mom who's snobby about wine and enjoys foreign films. Your kid probably went to Montessori at some point because, "I just think it's important that they learn how to ask the right questions."
If you have a little boy his name almost certainly ends in "-son." Mason. Edison. Grayson. Jackson. Jameson. Double points if it's also a family name (Anderson). You would sooner be seen without your head than without your pearls and diamond studs. The day a Brooks Brother's opened in your local downtown shopping area you would have cried but it'd been so long since you'd shown an emotion (you find it vulgar) that you couldn't remember how. Your partner (who is either in finance or you are) played Lacrosse, which is a big reason your child wanted to as well as your entire family recognizes the importance of tradition. Your favorite drink is a nightly gin and tonic, which your child knows how to mix for you.
You live in New England. Maybe a bougie corner of Maryland.
You're intense and competitive and, though you'll never admit it, you're already buying things in your mind with your child's NFL signing bonus because you know they have what it takes to go pro, that damn coach just needs to put them in the game more, damnit!
You can most often be found in a hoodie emblazoned with the team mascot. There are at least one or two seasons where you are far more into the team than your kid is. You and the soccer moms are natural allies or bitter enemies: there is no in-between.
Horseback Riding Mom
You really just hate money so much you want to throw as much of it as possible at your child's activity. (I kid, I kid... except the part about horseback riding being expensive, because it's so expensive.)
This is almost always an inherited activity. Your kid is into horses because you are and, let's face it: you know damn well your kid never stood a chance. You dress like an extra in a Toby Keith video. You have no fewer than three bumper stickers announcing your love of horses and one describing yourself as a cowgirl. Half your social media account is pictures of your kid riding horses. The other half is horse girl memes.
Honestly, you all must be the chillest sports moms on the planet, because I don't know any jokes about basketball moms. Well done, all of you.