"You have a baby. In a bar."
Reese Witherspoon's Sweet Home Alabama quote flitted through my brain as I opened the diaper bag with my teeth and furtively looked for a suitable place to change my stinkily sweet daughter. She tugged at my earring as I surveyed the situation. Of course a bar wouldn't have a diaper changing station in a bathroom stall. I have a baby. In a bar.
The irony wasn't lost on me as I grabbed a clean floor space and wrangled a fresh diaper over kicking legs, careful not to crumple a red velvet Santa dress. I had been in that same stall many times a lifetime ago under extremely different circumstances. Operation Diaper Change successful, I headed to the sink. A mom blinked back at me in the mirror where a black bar pants wearing twenty-something fixed her makeup a few years ago. My daughter screeched with delight at her own reflection and I smiled at her lit-up face. Where exactly did time go?
My husband and I shared a laugh when I returned to the table, remembering vividly just how life used to be. We were having Breakfast with Santa with our infant daughter in the same place we haunted as eager twenty-one-year-olds finally legally allowed to be inside the patio wall after dark. The morning was delightful and we got a good chuckle at the bleary-eyed stares of the wait staff who we knew hadn't seen an 8am shift in years. Our daughter sat in quiet awe on Santa's lap and we enjoyed some much needed family time in the mad rush that was Christmas. And yet, as we climbed into our very responsible mid-sized SUV to put our little girl down for a nap, we couldn't help but think of the people we once were. How did we get here?
It's a question that springs up occasionally. When I was cleared to drive on my own after having a baby, I took my daughter to visit my parents. I was enjoying the freedom of life outside the house and even tuned the radio (softly) to a non-kid station. Tapping the steering wheel contentedly, I pulled up to a four-way stop and it hit me: I'm a mom. There was a car seat in my rear view mirror. I was that car. I was a mom.
A few months later, I met a friend for coffee at a popular local breakfast spot. As we settled in to our table, our car seats safely situated next to us, we looked at each other and giggled a little nervously. We were those moms. Those moms who took babies to have coffee. How exactly did we become those moms? Weren't we just those fun-loving college graduates? Weren't we just those bright-eyed girls with a sparkly new ring? Weren't we just those active, eager newlyweds? How did someone allow us to have babies?
I wouldn't change a thing about life in the present. Being a mom is a fantastic state of being. I'm just constantly struck by the fact that I don't feel like a mom - at least not the feeling my younger self imagined it would be. I'm lucky that my daughter doesn't know any different. To her, I'm Mom and Mom knows everything. I'm happy to have her fooled!
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