My morning commute was long this morning. The highways are packed. In fact, as soon as I saw that the traffic on the Met (the highway I take to work) was bumper to bumper, I turned up my radio and decided to enjoy the music as I settled in for a long drive.
Which also gave me time to think…
This morning I read a blog post that started off with passport pictures 10 years apart and this got me to thinking about my own span of passport images. (I’ll have to dredge them up for a photo op). My very first passport picture (the one that I took with me to Europe at the tender age of 18) features yours truly sporting long flowing hippie hair and a black hippie style top (more about that top later). Now, that combined with the fact that I have been blessed or cursed with sleepy eyes (I’ve been told I have bedroom eyes (when not thinking about sex), like I’m about to cry (when I’m perfectly happy), or that I’m completely disinterested (when I’m actually paying attention and thinking about what’s being said) because of said eyes throughout my life)… anyways… Given the combo of eyes and fashion at the time, it really is no wonder at all that during my trip to Europe, I was approached by a stranger on the Paris metro asking if I wanted to buy any weed.
The irony behind this? That my type-A self was not up for buying pot from a stranger and getting stoned in a strange city. No flippin’ way. Next stop on the Euro tour, Amsterdam, only served to reinforce my reasons way this girl will never again partake an unknown city. I do not like not knowing where I am, being too dumb to think, trying to communicate in foreign languages, and find my way about town. Yeah, maybe I wouldn’t admit it then, but now I’m comfortable acknowledging that I’m far too type-A for that type of adventure!
But back to that top. I loved that top. I wish I still had it now. It’d totally still wear it, provided that it still fit. In fact, rummaging through my make-up box this morning, I found my old perfume from my younger days, and putting it on, found myself filled with nostalgia for my former hippie crunchy self. Oh, no worries, my inner crunch has never completely gone away, she’s just a little more urbane and less idealistically polemic these days (really, I swear it’s true even if it doesn’t seem like it at time when reading this blog). Just you wait, in a few years she’ll be resurfacing though. I’m totally going to go earth baby mama when I get preggers.
Yup, I’ll be the mom wearing the baby wrap, dancing barefoot in the living room, making organic baby foods, and finances willing, travelling the world, baby wrapped and in tow. Oh yes, one day probably not so far away from now… (Paul would be horrified that I’m sharing that on this blog, particularly because I do so in the same post that I talk about weed (HA)… thank god for him, his friends don’t read this!) Whatever. In fact, I’m fully looking forward to crunchy baby mama days. I actually look forward to having my own child to frolic with. Although children can be restricting, in some ways I’m really looking forward to the way that they can also allow you to be freer with your expressions.
Talking out loud, totally ok when you have a baby.
Dancing alone in your living room? Considered cute and adorable when you do it with a baby!
Playing in the sand… a sign of a good mom.
Yup, for all of my worries about the restrictions of motherhood, losing my identity, difficulties in travel, financial stress, etc, etc, etc… I think the fact that I will finally be able to dance around in the living room without seeming like I’m crazy is a definite perk! And I’m willing to admit that I fully intend on making the most of it. Oh yeah, baby, it’s gonna happen!