I Used To Be Fun

It's true.  I used to be a fun girl.  Not in the let's-watch-Nemo-and-have-a-dance-party kinda way, but in the put on some heels, do up your hair, take extra time with the make-up and have several drinks with girlfriends kind of way.  It was a blast.  I didn't have rules.  The best part was the next day, the recounting of events the night before...the lost items, lost money, laughs that brought you to tears.  Oh, it was good.

As I was driving to lunch with my sister recently (in my new minivan, mind you), I recalled how different things were then.  I didn't have to have a bag full of supplies to go places.  I would never have left the house forgetting anyone's shoes, having to turn around half-way down the street.  I didn't care if my lunch cost $25 (for just me.)  I took my time, talked as much as I wanted, and went about my own pace.  If I wanted a drink at lunch, I had one.  Naptimes?  What?  Also, I was not ok with food in my hair and I would have never used my sleeve to wipe someone else's snot.  Wow, those were the days.  (Just this morning, I left the house with pancake smear on my white cardigan-ed shoulder.  I knew it was there.  I saw it and I left it.  Ouch.)

After Patrick was born, I remember selfishly being resentful of the freedom I once had.  I didn't know at the time that that was what I was feeling, but now it seems pretty clear.  Many of my friends could mostly still come and go when they wanted.  They didn't have to plan for nights out.  They never had to arrange for a sitter.  Spontenaity still existed.  They could sleep as long as they wanted.  Not me.  And it made me a little sad.  I got frustrated.  Even though I was in heaven having my new sweet-smelling boy, I wanted everything.  I wanted that proverbial cake and I wanted to eat every bite. 

By the time Leo came along two years later, not doing things for other (small) people was what seemed foreign to me.  Going to a party and having to keep one eye on the kid looming around the dessert table was second-nature.  Moving potentially-dangerous items from within reach while not skipping a beat in conversation became fine-tuned.  Bedtimes now rule.  Schedules are sacred.  Now, I can fix the velcro fastener on a shoe one-handed, without looking, and in the short time it takes for the light to turn green.  And once, I caught a baseball flying at my face without even looking up.  That was when I knew I had arrived.  I was a mom.

Oh, it's still fun to think about the old me.  Prettier, much more fun, in tune with adult conversation, out of tune with songs about daffodils and colors, and less concerned about language or manners. I could just get up at 10pm and head out for the night.  I never had to plan for anything.  But the new me, the one who is ok with a ponytail and glasses all weekend long...it's who I am.  The kids and I are part of each other.  Patrick and I have conversations I would never have had with my closest friends; simple and honest conversations about what we're scared of or what we want to be when we grow up.  And Sweet Leo and I have become each other's security blankets.  We're still equally uneasy when we're separated (I know this might not be entirely healthy, but he's still a baby...and he's just so lovey and cuddly.)  I'm ok with lunches that are cut short because of tantrums and with holding conversations in public with tiny people who can't talk (this one is good because it masks my tendency to talk to myself, which I especially like to do in public.)  I may have had a few friends drop off because of the transition, but that's ok.  Life goes in little paths; what is good for one might not be good for another, and there is nothing wrong with that.

And, as we add to our family, I know things will continue to change.  I'll continue to change.  As the kids grow, so do I (well, these days, I mean that in every sense.)  I don't feel like I'm losing myself.  I may feel like I'm losing my mind from time to time, but who doesn't? And when these days are over and the kids are grown, I know I'll still cherish the moments we've spent together; the Friday Fish Fries, movie nights, smothering Daddy, singing together in the car, bathroom mishaps, reading books, telling stories in the dark, trips to the Children's Museum, baking, and the simple walks when the weather is nice.  I hope their memories are as good as mine.  I may not be the same kind of fun as I was, but, now this simple life is a great kind of life.  And I wouldn't change a thing. 

Note: Felt the baby move for sure tonight.  A little wiggle and jab on the left.