The Induction

My best friend once told me that as soon as you become a mom you should grieve over and bury your old life. Only then, could you truly embrace motherhood. I believed her, well, sort of, but I did not heed her advice.

Five years into motherhood and two kids later, I’m still grasping at vestiges of my “old self,” the one that could do what she wanted, when she wanted.

As evidence of this, I looked forward with great zeal to an upcoming family ski trip to Lake Tahoe. My excitement centered around the fact that I would join my family three days into the trip. Three WHOLE DAYS on my own—no kids, no husband, no responsibilities. The mere thought of it made me giddy.

I had big plans, oh yes I did. I would nap, excessively. I would finish reading the thigh-high stack of books and magazines that had called to me with a siren’s shriek for months, if not years. I would stay up late, sleep in and feel not one ounce of regret for the wine-induced hangover I’d have the next day.

But then a funny thing happened.

Being without my family was lonely. Desperate for conversation, I RAN to meet the postman at my mail box each day. I had lively chats with telemarketers who called our home. I phoned my own parents multiple times a day-stalking and harassing them until they avoided my calls. I reorganized everything in the house. The final mark of my loneliness: I played “Who can hold a gaze longest” with my dog. He won.

What did I do with my free time before kids? Who was that person with the “empty” life? I did not remember her.

I thought back to my good friend’s sage advice. Somewhere along the way, I had put my “old self” to rest, but I had not properly grieved over her loss. My three-day break was the stunning realization that I had truly morphed into a mom, naturally.

With this revelation, I sat down, paused, then sighed heavily. I should have felt sadness, but I didn’t, instead, I felt an immense relief.

I had been inducted into Motherhood.