When I was little, I wanted to be an entomologist.
I would comb through the grass in the yard, searching for bugs. Potato bugs were my favorite. Underneath the petunias they would hide, making their home in the cool, dark underbelly of the plants.
When I got a little bigger, I was going to be a surgeon. I took biology, and anatomy. I studied cadavers, and practiced wielding a scalpel.
I changed my mind again, and, to the dismay of my teachers, enrolled in cosmetology school. I learned about color, and cutting; I practiced setting and teasing hair, and learned how to enhance specific features, while hiding others.
Then I decided to get married, and I was a really good wife. I cooked and I cleaned, and my home was cozy and comfortable. It was even decorated according to the holiday at hand.
Then someone else decided I should be a mother, and He sent me four little hooligans, one right after another.
And my life was turned on its pretty little head.
I never dreamed of being a mom. Yes, I knew that one day I would have kids, but that was going to be AFTER. After I moved to New York. After I had my MBA . After I had the show-stopping career and the nice big house in a nice old neighborhood. DadGuy would be a successful something or other, and together, we would have decided that it was a good time to have some kids.
Instead, I am here.
I am here, making cookies with my children.
I am here, teaching love and kindness.
I am here, learning how to can my own jams and jellies.
I am here, kissing scraped knees, and bandaging little egos.
I am here, in the throes of a life I never dared to dream about.
And I am loving every minute of it.
