Momnesia

Momnesia: I almost forgot what life was like.

Before I went all insane and decided to throw caution to the wind and have a baby, I wore clothes that fit and that matched. They were usually clean. I took a shower every day and I did girly things to my face. I read magazines - I love Smithsonian - and never had to endure 15 rewinds of the same scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I read literature, not picture books - I may not have fully understood all of it, but by god I plodded through Thomas Pynchon. I had friends who were taller than three feet. I had conversations into which never entered the topics of pooping, peeing, or boogies. I ate really good food. I drank whatever I wanted, whenever and wherever. And however much of it I wanted. I watched movies in the theaters. I slept late on weekends and no one ever threw up on my face. I did a little traveling and never worried about leaving at naptime and arriving before such time ended. Did I mention that I slept late on weekends? In fact, I slept. That ability seems to have deserted me.

But even though I enjoyed my life and recreation, no one ever gave me ice cream kisses. No one ever belly laughed at stupid faces I made. No one ever asked me to snuggle with them, or hold them. No one requested "mooshes and a bid hud." No one infected me with excitement about watching birds outside the window or squirrels on the rooftop. No one ever asked me "Wha coh-yor ih dat?" and pointed to plaid. No one ever splashed with me in puddles after a rainstorm. No one lit up when I walked in the room. No one said, "Good morning!" at 6 p.m. when I picked them up from day care. No one ever made me scared enough to cry. No one ever held out their arms and asked "Hohd you?" No one ever clapped when I finished the dishes. I have to tell you, that is really nice. Sometimes I look at myself, picking dog hairs and wiping milk mustaches off my clothes, rushing around to get "see-rahl and mee-yohk" in the mornings, washing the vomit off of every blanket and sheet that we own, and gazing wistfully at my computer just a few feet away. I always complained before that I spent too much time on it. The last couple of days I cant seem to get just a couple of minutes on it to do real work for which I get paid actual money.

Nothing and no one stood in my way when I was younger. I was free to do as I pleased. But I never knew what that was. I never really discovered what pleased me. In an irony single and childless friends can never really appreciate, marriage and children have brought me greater clarity and purpose than I ever found when I was still searching for clarity and purpose. Now that I have stopped actively searching for my purpose in life, it seems that my purpose in life toddles over to find me whenever it pleases.

I have less control over my life than I have ever had in the past. The demands of family and professional life far outnumber the demands I ever placed upon myself and make it almost impossible to do the little things I took so much care before to accomplish - from waxing the stray facial hairs that irritate me so much, to walking through the nearby park, to sitting blissfully alone in an independent film showing in a theater - but now I am certain that although other things exert their gravitational pull against me, I am the center of the universe. "Mommy, come on!" my 2-year-old daughter calls from the doorway, her head cocked to one side and a grin on her face.

I am there.