People once described me as "bubbly." BUBBLY for goodness sake! But ah, that was many moons ago, dear friends, many moons ago indeed.
I now go to parks with my kids, and as my face begins to rest, I count, Kid 1, Kid 2, Kid-- Where on earth is Kid 3? I just saw him. He was right there. Ugh. This park is too crowded and I can't see past that rock climbing thing. Come on, buddy, pop your head out some where. Shit. There was a super shady-looking guy over there earlier and now he's gone... Seriously, what is this place, like a pedophile's dream? Oh. There he is. Where did Kid 1 and 2 go?
Then I follow the 2 year-old around, you know the one who thinks he can climb the same things the 7 year-old can and somehow get sprayed by an errant squirt from a squirt gun war happening amongst the tweens at the park. In my "bubbly" days, I would've smiled and given the rascally kids my I'm-a-cool-teacher-but-don't-push-it face. Nowadays, no. Now, I say, "Excuuuse me" with a tone. Because, ladies and gentlemen, I've developed a "tone." A do-that-again-and-I-will-drag-you-to-your-mother-by-your-ear-tone.
When? When did this happen? When did I forget how to play? When did I trade bubbly for bitchy? I liked bubbly. Maybe not champagne-bubbly, but at least semi-flat soda?!
I know it happened somewhere in the middle of being up all night providing for every need of all of these tiny humans 24 hours a day, but does being responsible for tiny humans automatically mean I can't be fun anymore? Because it seems that the two have become mutually exclusive in my life.
I am no longer fun, but I am responsible for everyone and everything that they need. If I shirk this responsibility of providing snacks and diapers and wipes, small children are starving and whiny and the toddler is covered in poo. That, my friends, is not fun.
I wanted motherhood so badly, but I didn't think it would mean that fun would be so sacrificed. It feels like becoming a mom means forfeiting the luxury of being a human. It FEELS like it means that I'm not allowed to do or be anything I've dreamt of doing or being besides being a mom--because I did dream of that-- boy did I dream of that. I wanted that so much. I wanted a family more than anything in the world. More than travel. More than adventure. More than being a best-selling author...
Now I have kids who create American Ninja Warrior Courses on every. single. playground. I have kids who play ball with Daddy in the backyard. I have kids who climb on chairs to help me bake and beg to snuggle with me to read stories.
My dream has come true.
But it came at a price; fun Emily is difficult to find, and I now have BRF and a "tone." I do not pay this price willingly.
I still want to be a mom more than anything in the world. But I also still want fun, travel, adventure, and best-selling-authordom.
My wise and wonderful husband once said to me, "Love is about sacrifice."
"What does that mean?" I said.
"It means I would've listened to country music if I had to do to be with you."
Maybe if I viewed love and life this way, my BRF would turn into a smile. What if I viewed the bag of diapers, wipes, and snacks as gifts I get to give my children instead of the ugh-why-do-I-always-have-to-lug-this-crap way that I usually see it?
What if I forced myself to be still when I look out the window and see my boys playing in the backyard?
What if instead of seeing joyful playing as a time to sneak away and get something done or do something I enjoy by myself I force myself to join in their already-happening-fun?
What if instead of forcing MY fun on my family, I just join in their fun instead?
Fun IS fun whether it's on my terms or theirs, and they are good at fun. They're kids for crying out loud. Maybe I could shirk the responsibility of BEING fun and just JOIN the fun instead.
I'll let you know how it goes.
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