Facebook reminded me of this post from almost SIX years ago. That means in just a few days, we celebrate SIX YEARS as a family of four. What a delightfully hard and beautiful journey. These were the last words I published before becoming a mom.
----------- When I was nineteen, my best friend Christa and I would perch ourselves (sometimes precariously...) on stools with colored bottles purchased at a garage sale used as microphones. Our song of choice was usually something like "Angel of the Morning" or "Leavin' on a Jet Plane". We preferred this version by Chantal Kreviazuk. I would try to blend in some harmony while Christa belted out the melody. The song was simple; really so was my life. Our biggest drama was picking out what matching outfits we wanted to wear to the party that night. Boys would come and go out of my life at that time. I kissed a lot of frogs and a couple of almost-princes before I met Chris. Tonight I was in the shower thinking about that song, thinking about the jet plane that I will leave on tomorrow with my husband and favorite life partner to bring home two beautiful boys (photos coming soon!). The lives of all four of us are on an unalterable path that will surely contain many bumps. I've done some crying in the past few days for various reasons, but now my bags really are packed. They really are ready to go. I looked at the spider veins as I shaved my legs in the shower tonight and thought, "That nineteen-year-old girl couldn't be me." The crows feet laugh lines next to my eyes weren't there during those college. I definitely wouldn't (or at least shouldn't) fit into the same tight clothes I wore back then. And sometimes I want so desperately to go back. Back to the time when my biggest challenge was squeezing in 30 minutes to study for a biology test or remembering to tutor the cute baseball players for a French credit. It was so simple. So easy. It was all about me. But now a few years have passed. Yes, sometimes I want to go back to the stool with the fake microphone and the pretend audience of fans. I want it to be all about me. It's not anymore, though. Nope. Tomorrow when I leave on the jet plane, I will remember that this story really isn't about me. It never has been. So I take a deep breath, recenter, close my eyes, and leap. I don't know the final chapter, but I trust the Author.
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September 2020
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