Dear 22 Year-Old Self, I Love You, You're Adorable, and I'm Not Trying to Impress You Anymore

Oh, hey there!  It's only been, what? More than two years?  In that time... nothing much... I had another baby, I am hopefully days away from delivering my third, I've delved into the awesome world of Mommy and Me classes, met some phenomenal new mommy friends,  discovered Downton Abbey, Mad Men, and House of Cards and binge-watched all of them, my friends Cecelia, Ladybird, and B all had babies, Ivan and I sold our home and moved into a new one two days before Christmas and, of course, neurotically made every possible home improvement change within a span of three weeks, and as of yesterday... became the proud owner of a...

MINIVAN!!!

I know you think that I'm trying to be funny and sarcastic, but I assure you, I am not!  I am OVER-JOYED to be joining the soccer-mom crowd and today, when I pulled into the Target parking lot and claimed my rightful place among the other Siennas, Odysseys, and Sedonas I had one thought:
I've Arrived.

Of course, my 22-year old self is screaming, "No! No!  We swore we would never drive one of those!" and to that I say, "You ignorant, ignorant ditz.  You have no idea what you're talking about.  Let me enlighten you about wrangling a 3 year old and a 20 month old into a car, in the rain, with a giant pregnant belly, in a busy parking lot.  A vehicle that is low enough to the ground that the kids can scramble in by themselves, with doors that open and close automatically is a chariot sent from God Himself."

Why, yes, that IS an array of spring flowers, my groceries for the week, overnight bags for Nana's house and two children with room to spare, thanks for asking!  :)

In fact, I am finding that I am falling into a lot of the "Mom Habits" in which I vowed to not participate when I was a younger adult.  Being 22 was a fun and funny time for me.  I had just graduated college and started my career.  I was living at home and had a little disposable income, planning a trip to Hawaii with Ladybird because, hey, we could!  I went to the gym twice a day because INSANITY and was basically enjoying a lot of the freedom that making money provides without the any of the responsibilities of a mortgage, marriage, or kids.  It was when I was 22 that I bought myself my "at the time" dream car- a 2003 Volkswagen Jetta.  It was a big change from those cash-strapped college years (and hand-me-down family station wagon that didn't need a key in the ignition to start).

College is a really unique time of your life for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that you are surrounded entirely by people (kids) your own age.  For four years you don't see children or older people (save for your professors, and let's face it, those who choose to exist in the realm of academia aren't really the poster children for real world expertise- My voice professor once asked me who Journey was.  Journey.)  So, when you emerge as a young professional, once again surrounded by a standard variety of ages, you start to look around and see "moms" who don't look like your mom, but look like you- or at least someone who could be you sometime soon.  And with that realization comes some scary thoughts of having to give up your sequined tank tops (or in my case, my shirt that was made out of a bandanna, I kid you not) and free-wheeling lifestyle and become, well, bland.  As a self-righteous 22 year old I would see moms while out and about and in a desperate attempt to cling to the new found lifestyle I had, I would create obnoxious "When I'm a mom, I'm never going to..." statements.

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to drive a mini-van."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to to wear leggings as pants."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to go out without make-up on."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to be in a store with my kids screaming."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never wearing sneakers with jeans."

I actually had the AUDACITY to PITY these young moms that I'd see and I'd get annoyed when my blissful, solitary trip to Target was interrupted by a toddler's whining.  What I'm now realizing, is that more than this being disgustingly judgmental, it's also ridiculously presumptuous.  Presumptuous in that these women- these hard-working, self-sacrificing women could give a crap about what some snot-nosed, know-it-all, brain-is-barely-developed punk thought about them.  Now, having joined their ranks, I can tell you how much I just don't care what other people (least of all, a 22-year old childless tart) think about me.

At the risk of sounding incredibly trite, I love my life.  I love shuttling my little girls to Gymboree and story time at Barnes and Noble.  I actually get a thrill from setting up a finger-painting project for them.  Some days I look pretty darn good- pulled together in that hip, cool-mom vibe.  Other days, like when one of the kids is sick or I'm not feeling well, or I hit the 7 month mark of pregnancy, or hey, we just couldn't get it together today, I go out looking a wreck.  It's not my favorite, but at the end of day, is my vanity worth missing an experience with my children?  And sometimes, my comfort has to come before my vanity too.  Like when I would take my girls for a walk in the double jogger shortly after my second was born, I would sport the dreaded jean and sneaker combination, because you know what?  I didn't want my feet or back to hurt.  Gasp!  I get a sense of pride that used to be reserved for looking really good in my jeans after working out and starving myself for six weeks from getting dinner on the table for my family each night in a semi-timely manner.  I make a bangin' turkey meatloaf.  I don't know if people say "bangin'" anymore and I couldn't care less.

All this being said, I have no ill-feelings toward my 22-year old self, or any other young adult that might see me in Target and pity me.  It's nice to have a point in your life when you are so delusional that you think you have it all figured out.  There is a season for everything and I'll always be grateful that I had a stage in my life when my biggest challenge was making sure that I only drank cocktails that were red, white, or blue while down the shore for 4th of July weekend.  And I think having had that season helps me be even more grateful for my current season.  I wasn't ready for the life I have now when I was 22.  And if I were still doing my 22 year old thing now, well, let's just say 34 year-olds shouldn't be running around in tops made from bandannas. So, 22 year old B, I do love you.  Go on with your bad self dancing at Bar A to "Yeah" every weekend.  Just know that there is another stage of life waiting for you where you don't have to worry so much about what others think of you and those things that make you cringe now will make you smile in just a few years.  Nothing will make you appreciate a minivan more than wrestling a car seat in and out of the backseat of a Jetta.