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At the outset, let me say that I love being a mother. There isn’t I do better at these days, than trying to be the best mommy ever to my twin miracles.
But somewhere, somehow, sometimes – I miss the girl, or maybe the woman, I used to be.
I know that motherhood doesn’t come with a “how to do this perfectly” booklet. And babies, for sure, don’t come with an instruction manual. I figured this out on my own, when fresh from my twins’ birth, at home alone with my 10 day old boys; I had a moment of realization.
My heart was never going to be my own again. I looked at my kids and realized that I had given someone so much power over me, so much that my heart was going to go around walking outside my body and I was powerless to do anything to avoid it. That it was now not just about me, it would always be about ‘us’. I would never be spoken of in singular terms again and the plurality of this ‘we’ would stay with me for life!
This fact has hit me again and again over the last three and half years that I’ve been a mother. It comes at me usually when I am at a particularly confusing stage, when I’ve got to make decisions, about work, life, family, parenting in general- that affect ‘us’ rather than ‘me’. And then I realize that there is no ‘me’. There is only ‘us’.
I mean, if that isn’t overwhelming, what is?
In all this chaos and confusion, I would be lying outright if I say that I don’t miss my old life, the one I had before I became a mother. These last three years have been so much about ‘us’ and not enough ‘me’ that now that my kids are growing their wings and daily getting more independent, it comes back and hits me with a vengeance that is uncalled for.
I miss my old life.
The one where I was responsible only for myself.
The one where I would not have an agenda for the day.
The one where I could just take off on a long walk, without carrying anything, without worrying that I needed to be back home at a particular time.
The one where though not happy, I was at peace with my chubby self, being called “cute” rather than “fat”.
The one where there were days that I could spend hours and hours in a mall, watching movies, shopping, pigging out on the most awesome food ever, without looking at a clock.
The one where I could look at my cellphone for hours and hours and no one would come and tell me that I am setting a bad example or being unattentive.
I miss my time alone. I miss my “me-time”.
I miss being able to do “nothing” and it being completely acceptable.
I miss not having bags under my eyes.
I miss looking rested.
I miss being interesting. (Ok maybe I am interesting to my kids now, but hey, you know that once upon a time I used to read Jeffrey Archer and Dan Brown and now my reading material comprises of Peppa Pig and The Hungry Caterpillar!)
I miss knowing the fact that two hands, two eyes and 24 hours in a day are enough.
I miss knowing and understanding the fact that I am going a great job and living a fabulous life, everyday.
I miss NOT being constantly compared to other people to see if I’m doing a good job. (Don’t let anyone fool you, Motherhood is the most competitive field out there. Seriously.)
I miss taking decisions about my career that revolve only around me and the fastest way that I can make it big, because now there are so many other factors in taking these decisions.
In spite of all that I miss, I love being a mother. I adore my kids, I love being a mom, I chose to be a mom and I wouldn’t do anything differently. At least, not anytime soon!
I’m happy and at peace to be called a mom now. Because I know that I’m more, I’m so much more than being “just” a mom.