Me Again

When you have a child, your world changes for both good and bad. Good because you never realized you could love someone so much, and you have a wonderful little miracle to hold in your arms. Bad because without even realizing it, you’ve given up your life as you knew it – it’s no longer yours. You’re now a mom.

As a mother of four beautiful children myself, I spent the first decade of the 2000s in a blur of diapers, toys, and sleepless nights. Time for myself became non-existent. Most moms can tell you that even your potty breaks aren’t private anymore. During those years, I lived for nap times – moments where at least a few of them were asleep, a slight reprieve so I could focus on just managing the others. And days where they were all asleep at the same time were like winning the lottery. During those few and far between treasured times, I could finally do something for myself. More times than not, I spent those moments reading a book. So when my friend suggested a popular series of paranormal young adult romances, I decided to give them a try.

Two chapters into the first book, I was hooked. I tore through the first novel and quickly moved onto the second, neglecting some of my household duties and strictly doing the bare minimum of simply watching my kids and taking care of them and them alone. Then, upon finishing the sequel, I ended up recommending them to another friend, Lisa-Marie. She, too, devoured them.

To our surprise, the book series had ignited a fire neither of us had felt since before giving birth to our kids. We were starting to see glimpses of ‘us’ again. And we liked it.

The two of us spent hours during playdates and on the phone, discussing and dissecting the plots, speculating where the storyline would go, and how we thought the love story would play out. When a release date came for the third book in the series, she and I were elated. Within minutes of hearing the announcement, Lisa-Marie and I had put in our pre-orders.

Shortly after the release date, the author announced she would be holding a book signing at a nearby college. Unfortunately, tickets sold out quickly, and Lisa-Marie and I weren’t able to purchase any. The weeks went by, and she and I scoured the internet looking for scalped tickets, hoping beyond hope someone would have to cancel and we would be able to attend.

The day of the signing finally came, and I’d made the decision I was not going to miss it. I’d decided that I would show up at the venue and hope for the best. I arranged things with my husband and decided to get Lisa-Marie in on the action. Initially, she resisted, but I convinced her and she and I headed to the college in the end.

When we arrived, we explained our ticketless situation to the people operating the door. Sadly, they admitted there weren’t any cancellations they knew of, but they’d let us know if anything changed.

My friend and I hovered around the auditorium for hours, hoping beyond hope that we’d still be able to get in. Finally, with just an hour left of the event, a woman at the door took pity on us and offered us two tickets she’d been gifted for her volunteering. We were ecstatic.

Grabbing my friend by the hand, I dragged her into the book signing. She and I ended up having the time of our lives. We giggled like schoolgirls, talked with other mega fans, got our books signed, and took pictures with the author.

The experience changed both of us. It was as if we’d found our inner selves, the ones we had been before we’d taken on the mantel of ‘mom.’ To this day, sixteen years later, my friend still talks about that day – how she’d felt like her again when I’d grabbed her hand and led her into the auditorium. We felt free that day and simply enjoyed being fangirls; we’d cast aside our responsibilities for the evening and relished in being ourselves again.

I’m grateful we’d had that opportunity—the moment where I felt like ‘me’ again. And even though my last two kids need me and are still at home, I can think back to that day and know that there is still that little girl somewhere deep inside me. I haven’t lost ‘me’ yet. That ‘I’ can still make an appearance any time I get the chance.