Before There Was You

My Children,

When I was younger I had orange hair. Actually, at different times I had pink hair, purple hair, black hair, red and green hair, blue hair, and pretty much every color under the sun. I got most of my clothes at Good Will as a matter of principle and thought nothing of wearing clothes with cigarette burn holes and sweat rings. I almost never wore shoes, and I didn't shave for 3 years. I drove my mom's old Pontiac 6000 covered in vintage 1960s flower stickers, affectionately nicknamed, Bertha. I loved the Beatles and 311...and carried a secret torch for bad 80's ballads, which I sang alone in my car where none of my friends could see me.

 I was eager to be a grown up. I dropped out of high school at 16 and moved into my own place when I was 17. My roommates and I had all-night keggers...constantly, and I worked up to 4 jobs to pay the bills. When I was 13, I marched on Washington to protest the 1st Gulf War, and I once stumped for Jesse Jackson with my friend D and her dad. I thought I would join the Peace Corps and spend my life working to make the world a better place. I never dreamed I would join the military much less make a career of it.

Now I have Mom hair.  Cut into an "acceptable for the office" style and dyed a sensible color. On the rare occasions I buy clothes for myself, I shop on eBay or at the sale racks, but I am always conscious of the brand. My handbag is big enough to fit a small dog, and contains just about anything you could ever want or need: crayons, Angry Birds bandaids, iPhone and iPad loaded with apps for kids (none for moms), wipes, tissue, snacks. I work for the State Department (aka "the man"), and I do think that all my life's work has been to make the world a better place. And, I am exceedingly proud of that...and I still sing bad 80's ballads but now it's with pride with my friends at karaoke night.

Sometimes I feel that when I became a Mom, I lost a part of myself. Most of the time I don’t miss her, knowing that along with the slimmer waist and greater freedom, was also the inherent ignorance and selfishness that comes with youth.  The ignorance and selfishness that makes youth so much fun, I might add.  Is being a Mom always fun?  Not on your life.  Is being a Mom worth all the sacrifices we make? I deeply, deeply believe so.

To you I will forever be the person who puts bandaids on your boo-boos, makes sure you get the correct lunch at school, and that you brush your teeth at least twice a day. I am the one who helps with your homework, who drops you off at volleyball practice, and who nags you about finishing that same homework.  I am sure you will love that person, but will you really know who I am?

I never truly understood or appreciated my mother until I became one myself.  As a teenager it never occurred to me to investigate her beyond the surface level. She was my mom. A teacher, a cook, a cleaner, a sewer.  She worked, she baked, she made our clothes (and sometimes matching ones for dolls, or in my sister's case, for small unicorns).  She was my mom, but she wasn’t a person with a history, a dream, a set of beliefs.

Of course, I appreciate her now.

More than these mere words can ever hope to express, I truly appreciate my Mom. I can look back and see what she sacrificed for us.  And this is not to say that my Dad didn’t make sacrifices for us, because I know he did.  But I am a Mom, and I can see the path ahead for me.  I can see myself through your eyes, and I realize it will be some time before you see me as a person with an identity above and beyond your Mom.

And I can wait.  But sometimes I wish I could show you my life before, show you who I was when I was younger, before there was you, when I was only myself.