Do you ever ask yourself, “who am I?” We often define who we are by what we do. I am a stay at home mom and so by that definition, I am “Booboo’s mom.” It seems so simple and tells so little about me, and yet, it sometimes feels as though I have dissolved into nothing more.
I clean the house, but I am not a house keeper. I make dinner, but I am not a cook. I run errands, but I am not a concierge. I manage our schedule, but I am not an event planner. I take care of the cats, well, because they demand it. I am a wife. Maybe I could be described as “Mrs. Co.” That’s how one would describe Santa’s wife, I’m sure. Does that adequately describe Mrs. Claus, or me?
There was a time when I was a young twenty-something with a career in social work, a passion for travel, and plenty of interests to talk the ear off a dog. I looked at my husband with wide eyes and far off dreams. My passion and excitement would electrify our conversations and I could tell that I fascinated him.
At first, we were overwhelmed with the whole parenting gig, the crying, and the giant bowl of exhaustion we had for breakfast. Eventually, all that became less overwhelming and more normal.
I woke up this morning and thought to that twenty-something, “now you’re just somebody that I used to know.”
That twenty-something seems like such a distant memory that I can hardy believe we are the same girl. This is not that body. This body belongs to a little man who needed it’s youth for his life. This is not that blood. That girl had allergies and was at peace with the world, while this woman has no allergies and feels a constant flutter in the chest of humming concerns. This is not that life. That girl floated where the wind took her and was as carefree as a bird. This mother has responsibility, a mortgage, a family. That girl loved traveling, scrapbooking, gardening, photography, camping, hiking, yoga, fairs, cooking, restaurants, motorcycles, concerts, dancing, plays, culture, and trying new things. This woman doesn’t have the time.
I have friends who I would also describe as so and so’s mom. We get together and talk about our little so and sos. In a sense, that’s what we talk about because that’s who we are. So and so’s mom. But maybe, I’d like to think that is not where we end. Maybe this is just where I start. A new adventure to discover who I am after becoming Booboo’s mom.
I need a new adventure.
Where do I start?