I am Annie. I am mom. I am babe. I am Ang. I am hey you, and her mom and his wife. For awhile I was Fiona but then they started asking me to pay for the site and I lost interest. I am cheap. Last week I was Alice to a mom with a lot on her mind. I am still laughing at the look on my daughter’s face when I answered to that.
I am a daughter and a daughter-in-law. I am a sister and an aunt and your friend. I am that woman staring at your babies and toddlers and thinking they are beautiful.
I am also thinking I am glad my children are older. That I am thankful they can tie their own shoes and make their own snacks and wipe their own butts. Mostly that they can wipe their own butts. I am a fan of that.
I am a good friend and I am loyal. But I am fierce and protective of the people I love. I am forgiving but I don’t forget if you hurt me or my family. If you make them cry, I will make you cry! I am a redhead.
I used to be smart but now I’m kind of medicated and confused.
I used to have a good job and validation of a job well done. Now I’m easily pleased with a thank you for making you cookies and fudge. I like fudge and cookies, and shiny things, and sunshine and flowers and spring. And my dog. I like my dog. She was doing the funniest thing the other day where she’d nudge me with her nose and then…..
I am easily distracted.
I am hoping I am not the person I see in the mirror but I’m kind of afraid I am. I am pretty sure I’m much younger and hipper than she is. And that my boobs are much perkier. I’m wondering what happened to them. I was the breastfeeder of 3, but not all at the same time. That could be it.
I was the holder of babies. The woman who ignored you when you told me to put them down so they could nap. I am the mom who stared at them in wonder. I still am. I am proud of them.
I am a lover and a wife. I am the woman with the husband you want. The one who took 3 kids to the grocery store when they were little so I could rest. The one who does the dishes. The one who makes me laugh and look forward to March Madness. How the hell did that happen? Who is that woman? Where did she come from? I am not sure.
I am not often the one who asks “why me”? I am more of a “who’d I piss off in a past life to deserve this?” kind of gal. I am also the one who looks at the people I love and who love me and says again, “Wow, what did I do right to deserve this?” I am lucky and I am appreciative.
I am scarred and pale and weak but I am strong. I am lifted by love and laughter and family and friends. And I am resilient. I am also muscle free and grossed out by wet bread in the sink. What the heck is up with that? Why do people think the sink is the place for uneaten food when the garbage can is so near by. Don’t get me started on wet meat. Eww!
I am still easily distracted.
I am the finder of lost things. I am the only one with the ability to lift things and look under them. I know where things are kept even if I did not put them away. But even I, am not the finder of lost socks.
I am the writer of brilliant posts in my mind at 3am that never quite come together in the morning. I am shopping for an Ipad and a good nightlight.
I am the one you called super mom but not in a nice way. You called me that because I bake every treat I bring to school for parties and birthdays from scratch. I am the mom of a child with a nut allergy. I am “super mom” because I want her to have a safe snack that will not send her to the hospital. I want her to be included. You are not nice.
I am a lover of the sun but easily burned. I am rejuvenated by nature and mountains. I have had sex on mountain tops. I have had pine needles in places I shouldn’t. I am strengthened by nature but invigorated by the power in the air in NYC. Or maybe that was drunk from pollution. I don’t know. I am fascinated by those with lives so different from my own. I like pizza. I miss the east coast.
When I was on the east coast I missed home. I am hard to please. Ok not really but it seemed to fit there. Wherever SG is, I am home. I am mushy and annoying like that.
I am a walker because I am too lazy to run. I think it makes my boobs even less perky. I am the maker of lame excuses.
I was that girl who could ski anything. I spent every spare day on the slopes. I was good. Then I met a southerner and got married and had babies and left the mountains. I am that woman you judged and whispered about to your friend because I skied a run on the bunny hill with my baby in a Bjorn. You didn’t know me or what I could do. I am careful, always careful, with my babies. She loved it, and loved me, and slept for hours afterwards. I shared my world with her and you frowned. I can feel you frowning now. What if I’d fallen? What if she’d gotten hurt? I didn’t, she didn’t. We are fine.
I can hold one hell of a grudge.
I am the mother of the girl who failed her human sexuality test. In part because she was embarrased to label the boy parts but also because she “was just sure the rectum was in the front”. I am confused by that but also very amused. I am a failure at “the talk”. I am in search of a good diagram for her sisters.
I am a lover of margaritas and red wine and strong micro-brews. I get sick when I have them now. I am pretty sure that really pisses me off!
I am “that mom with cancer”. I am the one who makes you uncomfortable. The one who you used to seek out but now makes you take a sharp right around the clothing rack to avoid. I saw you.
I am the one who makes you thankful and fearful at the same time. The one who makes you hug your children tighter and question your pains. I am the one who makes you get them checked. I am good with that. I am proud of you.
I am more than you know but likely less than you think. I am nothing more or less than me.
I am done. I’m sure you are thankful for that.
Who are you?