There is a moment in the life of every mother that marks a crucial turning point in her understanding of herself as a parent. This shared experience is a common bond that links women through the ages and around the world, traversing racial and economic boundaries with the universality of its truth. This moment can occur on any ordinary day, and it takes the breath away with its power.

You might just be trailing your toddler across the playground, offering her sips of filtered water and organic blueberries and whole grain pretzels from BPA-free snack containers, and gathering the bits of trash she leaves behind her as she goes. At a simple moment just like this, as you gaze upon her snot-encrusted face and absently wonder if you should also fetch the dried mango from your car, you realize it all at once: I am this kid’s bitch.