Every now and then, I find myself reminiscing about my carefree days before motherhood, when the world seemed wide open and my biggest worry was what to wear for a night out. I can still picture myself lounging on the roof of my apartment, watching the Kansas thunderstorms roll in while chatting with friends on the phone. The scent of rain-soaked shingles lingers in my memory.
I fondly recall the bliss of staying up late on weekends, knowing I could sleep in as long as I wanted with no obligations waiting for me the next morning. I remember the thrill of driving down country roads with the windows down, music blasting, enjoying the sweet summer night air, and even getting flirted with at stoplights.
I chuckle at the times I’d take an hour to get ready and still manage to be late. I would wander the mall or enjoy a meal without having to leap up to tend to anyone else’s needs. Back then, my stress revolved around whether a guy would call, who was dating whom, or, heavens forbid, having no plans on a weekend night.
It wasn’t that I was selfish; I was simply living for myself. I was spontaneous, a hopeless romantic, and a dreamer, blissfully unaware that life was about to change in the most profound way.
It’s easy to romanticize those carefree moments from the past when you’re knee-deep in the whirlwind of motherhood. I always longed for a life of significance, but I never realized just how small a “big life” could feel. I’m not out saving the world with humanitarian missions or jet-setting across continents. I never did make it to Africa or tackle the issues of human trafficking.
These days, I’m often called away from my lunch break to provide moral support during my toddler’s, um, “business” moments. My daily routine involves juice-fetching, diaper-changing, and crying in frustration when my 3-year-old decides to unleash his inner tornado. My escapes to Target are less about shopping and more about finding a moment of peace. I’m spoon-feeding, making sandwiches, and occasionally folding laundry—only to refold it when tiny hands scatter it everywhere. I’m cleaning bathrooms while my older child “helps” by splashing water everywhere, and I’m on a perpetual cycle of picking up after everyone and trying to match my husband’s socks without losing my sanity.
I’m awakened by a tiny voice asking for cuddles, surrounded by the delightful soundtrack of toddler songs and baby babbling. I’m showered in messy kisses and hearing “I wub you too.” I’m singing “You Are My Sunshine” on repeat with a baby attached to my hip. My days are filled with little hands climbing on me, requests to be held, and skipping makeup for the sake of comfort. Yet, despite my chaotic appearance, my husband still insists I’m beautiful.
Sometimes, I drift back to those simpler days before I embraced motherhood. I linger there for a few moments (or even an entire afternoon, depending on the chaos level), but inevitably, my thoughts circle back to my present life—with my boys and my partner—and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
One day, I’ll sleep in again, only to find myself longing for that tiny voice to wake me up. I’ll travel the world and miss the days spent building Lego towers in my living room. I’ll yearn for the tiny laundry piles and the little fingerprints on my windows. I’ll hop in the car without having to buckle a single car seat and miss having someone to lift into the shopping cart, chatting about superheroes or dinosaurs. I’ll look back fondly at my overflowing bag of diapers and snacks, and the excuse to always have Teddy Grahams on hand.
The days may be long, but the years fly by in an instant. I may not have saved the world just yet, but the dreamer in me is alive and well. The greatest dream I’ve ever had is my current reality, and I’m loving every moment of it.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the nostalgic moments of pre-motherhood life while celebrating the joys and challenges of being a mom. It highlights the transition from carefree days to the fulfilling, albeit chaotic, journey of motherhood, emphasizing love and commitment to family.