Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall…
When the heck did I become a grownup?
Ever caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror or window, or heard yourself say something and thought, “Wow, is that really me?” I did that the other day. I was holding Bella and we were laughing in the mirror. I pointed at my face said, “Who’s that? Is that your Momma?” And as I said it, a flash of my mom popped up in my mind. I realized that I was that to Bella. I am Momma.
I’m telling you, it seems like yesterday I was running around with multi colored socks, big ole glasses (no, you will NEVER see a pic of me with those) and a plan to save the world by only owning a horse instead of a car when I grew up. I read Laura Ingalls – and wanted to be her, Anne of Green Gables – and wanted to be her too, and Mrs. Piggle Wiggle. And wanted an upside down house.
I had forts with my brother and sister, we had a bouncy log that was a half of a tree split in half by lightning. If you sat on it you could bounce up and down. I had pigeons, played in the creek, imagined I was a unknown princess adopted by my parents when I was mad at them, and set up lemonade stands with my friends to sell to neighbors. I started a Tomato Lovers club (so my brother couldn’t join because he gagged eating them), read Goosebumps and The Babysitters Club, and had a million snap bracelets.
Yep, that’s me (sans glasses because I told you I’m not showing them). I still see myself that way. I look in the mirror and see a 7 year old holding a baby and wonder, “What are you doing?” I pay bills, own a home, have a car, am married, do laundry, clean my room without my dad and mom threatening to take a black trash bag to it, make my bed because I want to; all these things happened but I don’t know when.
So it’s funny when little children call me “Mrs.” or say, “When I’m grown up like you…” because in my mind, I’m still trying to make my Barbie doll’s head fit back on the ball in her neck without her looking porky and bloated. Which never happens.