I’m sitting in the running car outside of my own house, listening to an awful radio station because it’s what comes in. My groceries need to be refrigerated so I have the AC on. The ribs I had planned for dinner needed to go in 30 minutes ago in order to be ready on time (and not mess with our bedtime routine) so I’ve come up with a new dinner plan that has nothing to do with the ribs that have been marinating since 9 a.m.
My daughter is asleep in the back seat. If I try to move her she’ll wake up. If she wakes up too early from what will be her last nap of the day there’s a very good chance my generally happy life will suddenly royally suck. So, here we sit. Her, sleeping. Me, protecting the sanity of a household.
Two things occur to me while I sit and wait listening to truly horrific music. One is that I’m really grateful to own a smart phone in moments like these. The second is that motherhood has made me an entirely different person than I used to be.
My house looks a bit like it recently played host to an infant fraternity. I admit I have forgotten to cook a vegetable with dinner more than I’ve remembered lately. My eyebrows are threatening a facial take over and, more often than not, my leaving-the-house outfits are comprised of whatever sort-of-matches, fits, and has the least amount of food or spit up on it. When I see friends who don’t have young kids we have these awkward pauses that were never there before while we figure out where we still connect. I used to throw dinner parties that started at 8 p.m., now I rarely accept an invitation that starts later than 2 p.m.
I’m different, life is different. I say things and do things (and wear things!) I swore I never would.
It’s an adjustment. Sometimes it’s a really, really hard adjustment, but it’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s fantastic. It’s a gift. It’s a finding of self I never imagined. This little girl has changed me, it’s true, and I couldn’t be happier with where we’re headed.
I am, however, going to invest in a few CDs for the car.