Today I’m thirty-nine weeks along. One week from this baby’s due date.
In a week or so, depending on when she decides to show up, I’ll be a mom. And my life will be different.
I remember very clearly walking across campus at BYU as a freshman and having a sudden vivid image of my mom at BYU also as a freshman, walking to classes, dating, preparing for dental school, recent valedictorian of her high school, a California girl, vocal soloist, cute, young, and single. Not a mom, not my mom, just herself. A whole life of her own long before I was a part of it.
When you’re a kid, I think it’s just really difficult to see your parents as a person with their own life separate from yours and especially before your own life.
I’ve thought about that moment a hundred times in the last six and a half years, and I’ve thought about it even more frequently since I’ve been pregnant.
I know how I see myself – someone who loves to read, who is good in school, who hates a messy house, who loves to cook, who likes ethnic foods, who waits for the weekly grocery mailers to come as if it’s Christmas, who loves to get on airplane, who hates a real winter, who loves checking things of a to-do list, who was born in the Midwest, grew up in Las Vegas, and fell in love with Texas.
I have a masters degree, I lived in the dorms at BYU, I worked for a Fortune 500 company in Austin, I was on the speech and debate team at my high school, I played the violin for five years, I went on Study Abroad in London for eight weeks, eight months after I got married.
I have a whole lifetime of experiences before this baby ever came on the scene, and I think it will be a long time before she or my other children can or even think to look at me as someone other than their mom.
I wonder how they’ll see me; I wonder how it will change the way I see myself.