It is a usual weekend morning. My husband and I wake up early with our kids, make breakfast, clean up the kitchen and move on to weekend chores between playing with our children. Before I realize it, two hours have passed and I have fed everyone except myself and by my second cup of coffee, I’ll admit it, I am cranky. Just before my shower, I step into the bathroom where I notice a shiny spot on the tile. It doesn’t take me long to realize what this wet and slightly yellow spot near the toilet is. As I grab the Clorox wipes, I release a heavy sigh and wonder out loud who the dripper in my all male family is. Of course, I did not expect to get an answer. Defeated, I get undressed and climb into the shower hoping to wash away some of the frustration that I feel.
I love my family and would never change my life but a part of me wonders what happened to that girl that I used to be fifteen years ago. The girl that was occasionally discouraged but mostly happy at her job. She was the girl that used to spend more money on clothes than groceries, enjoyed nights out with friends and lived alone in her apartment that overlooked the park. She took weekend trips, leisurely sipped coffee while she read, and had more free time than she knew what to do with.
I watched the water run past my polished pink toenails and into the drain. I was filled with guilt. Why do I sometimes miss that life?
The soft cotton towel was no comfort for the cold air conditioning that chilled my wet body as I stepped out the warm shower. I stared at the reflection in the mirror while the water dripped down my bare skin. My eyes looked tired with slight dark circles resting comfortably beneath them. I looked older, exhausted, and today unhappy. I wondered what I would do if I could travel back in time to my single, before Motherhood days.
I closed my eyes as I imagined a day in my old life. I would ignore the alarm clock and sleep in as late as I wanted. I would drink coffee, not in the car on the way to school, but slowly in some non-kid friendly coffee house. I would take a long, hot bath and shave my legs, both of them. I would have full control of the TV remote and watch re-runs of the Sopranos or any channel other than Noggin, Disney or Nick Jr. Instead of grabbing a protein smoothie on the run and then eating the remainder of whatever my kids didn’t finish, I would eat a real lunch and dinner in restaurants that don’t have animals as company mascots.
My daydream was interrupted by a sound coming from outside my closed door. In another room, I could hear the happy voices of my kids, playing together and helping each other. I heard cars racing, tiny bare feet slapping against the hard word floors, and laughter echoing in the hallway. I heard my husband counting as the boys ran to hide from him. I heard the sounds of my present and future, not my past.
The girl of fifteen years ago never knew what it was like to worry about another person more than herself. She didn't realize the pride she would feel to watch a baby walk for the first time or hear a child read their first book. She never knew what it was like to have someone tell her that they would love her forever, and mean it. She never knew how content she would feel to hold a sleeping baby on her shoulder and feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. She didn't know that the sound of happy children could make eveything seem better.
Even through the steamy mirror, I could see how alone I would be back in my old life. Your past is your past for a reason.