I figured there was no better time to re-post it then right before she starts 2nd grade.
My Previous Life
In my previous life, before I was reincarnated as a mother of one, I wore clothes that fit and matched. I wore makeup and curled my hair every day. I had my eyebrows waxed and my nails done. But no one gave me cherry kool-aid kisses. No one ever told me how pretty I look in sweats.
In my previous life, I read People magazine and the newspaper. My regular television viewing did not include Blues Clues and Sesame Street, and I read all the bestselling novels. But no one asked me to read 5 little monkeys at bedtime. No one ever requested If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.
In my previous life, I had a career and friends who were more than three feet tall. People asked for my opinions and entrusted me with important projects and confidential information. I had conversations where not once was mentioned snacks or potties or the zoo. But no one asked me my favorite color or why the sky is so blue. No one ever wanted me to sing.
In my previous life, I had a life. I frequented the malls, restaurants and the movie theater. I hosted parties where the themes had nothing to do with Care Bears or Elmo. I shopped for myself and slept late on weekends. But no one made me Valentine cards. No one ever gave me dandelion bouquets.
In my previous life, I had fun, and my destinations did not hinge on theme parks or swimming pools or nap schedules. The newest Clubs, Great trips, Spontaneous Excitement . . . these were my playgrounds. I was the queen of the world and my destiny. But no one asked me to push the swing higher. No one ever invited me to splash in puddles or roll in the snow or play in their tent.
In my previous life, before I was reincarnated as a mother of one, I wore clothes that fit and matched. I wore makeup and curled my hair every day. I had my eyebrows waxed and my nails done. But no one gave me cherry kool-aid kisses. No one ever told me how pretty I look in sweats.
In my previous life, I read People magazine and the newspaper. My regular television viewing did not include Blues Clues and Sesame Street, and I read all the bestselling novels. But no one asked me to read 5 little monkeys at bedtime. No one ever requested If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.
In my previous life, I had a career and friends who were more than three feet tall. People asked for my opinions and entrusted me with important projects and confidential information. I had conversations where not once was mentioned snacks or potties or the zoo. But no one asked me my favorite color or why the sky is so blue. No one ever wanted me to sing.
In my previous life, I had a life. I frequented the malls, restaurants and the movie theater. I hosted parties where the themes had nothing to do with Care Bears or Elmo. I shopped for myself and slept late on weekends. But no one made me Valentine cards. No one ever gave me dandelion bouquets.
In my previous life, I had fun, and my destinations did not hinge on theme parks or swimming pools or nap schedules. The newest Clubs, Great trips, Spontaneous Excitement . . . these were my playgrounds. I was the queen of the world and my destiny. But no one asked me to push the swing higher. No one ever invited me to splash in puddles or roll in the snow or play in their tent.
In my previous life, I held my emotions in check. I did not stomp my feet or grit my teeth. I could not easily be diminished to tears or tirades. I considered my demeanor as laid-back and easygoing. But, no one made me care enough to cry. No one ever just loved me, anyway.
In my previous life, I was free. I could carve my own path and follow my dreams. Nothing stood in my way. But the path was unsure and the vision blurred. No one ever gave me purpose enough to soar. Now, I endlessly rearrange piles of laundry, crumbs and toys. I am pulled and tugged, hassled and harassed, yelled at and critisized, stepped on and sat upon, and desperate for some solitude. I am sweats-clad and juice-stained, bleary-eyed and graying, underpaid and overwhelmed. And, sometimes I wonder who I am and what I've become.
Then, my daughter shouts, "Mommy, I need you!" and it is perfectly clear.
I am the center of the someone's Universe. I am her MOM.
I am the center of the someone's Universe. I am her MOM.
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