I used to go to the mall without a pack of baby wipes in my purse and snot stuck to my shirt.
I used to buy concert tickets as if they were free.
I used to meet a girlfriend once a week for sushi and wine, just to catch up.
I used to keep up on all of my TV shows within the season they aired.
I used to be there for my friends within minutes of a phone call.
I used to know what all the current music is – even before the albums were released.
I used to remember things like birthdays, anniversaries, and other notable events.
I used to start and finish a book in the same calendar year.
I used to go to Target just to browse.
I used to be more fun and spontaneous. I actually went out for dinner and ate it while it was warm. And I could “hang” well past closing time, not in any hurry to be home.
I used to sleep in on a weekend morning, rolling over to find the “cold” part of my pillow and hanging out just minutes longer.
I used to drink my beverages before they were watered down by my ice.
I used to put money away in the bank each and every paycheck for a “rainy day” or a vacation.
I’m used to 1am. And 2 am. And 3am. And 4 – in my jammies, comforting a tiny human I created.
I’m [almost] used to sleeping in 1-4 hour increments for a max of 6 hours of [intermittent] sleep per night.
I’m used to vomit on my shirt, from one of three incredible kiddos with their own “weirdness” for why – carsickness, overeating, and an ease of catching germs.
I’m used to responding every time I hear the word “mom,” even if it’s not my kid.
I’m used to feeling like I’m in my friends’ lives only because I beat the Facebook algorithm change, seeing their post in the middle of the night.
I’m [getting] used to feeling like I’m never at work enough, or home enough, and trying to do all I can to make up for it.
I’m used to feeling like I need one of those buttons the office supplies stores has. I want to just pause time long enough for me to catch my breath, clean my house, and not miss a thing in the meantime.
I’m used to feeling like every day my kid comes home from preschool there’s more money owed. Another paper asking me for another contribution to a charity, a commemorative something to buy or another book order that we just don’t need.
I’m [surprisingly] used to driving a minivan (though still working on how to right-side park the darn thing – back up camera for the win!).
I’m used to cleaning the same counter, the same laundry, and the same dirty little hands over and over.
I’m used to weighing the cost of a babysitter against an adult night out, determining if it’s really worth it.
I’m used to trying to get through bath time without a flood on my floor, and bedtime without the pitter patter of feet on the floor above me.
I’m used to checking out movies and books from the library that are four or more years old to catch up, and then returning them past due, never opening them once.
I’m used to listening to CNN while driving to and from work as my only chance to know what is going on in the world – as the Bubble Guppies are what rule our TV.
Take it all in they say…
As my kids get older, I hear I’ll miss these days, so I hold onto that and do my best to take it all in as it comes. There are some days when I wonder just who “they” are and whether “they” could handle my kids. And while I know this time is so sweet, and goes so fast, a part of me hopes I get back to what I used to do, too – as the old me was a pretty cool chick. Look where she got me, and look at all that’s before me, too.