Tuesday, May 7, 2013

On Becoming Domesticated

"I will never have kids."

I can remember saying this around age 20, when the independent, single life was vastly more appealing than the thought of getting tied down by bath nights and bed times.

"I am far too selfish."
Me, have kids?

Famous last words right?

Truthfully I have always liked kids, partially because in some ways I never grew out of being one and partially because they are just a lot of fun. But being responsible for them? That's a whole 'nother story. And also truthfully, at the time I really didn't picture myself having children and I probably was far too selfish. But that's the thing about life isn't it? It's ever evolving.

I met my husband, Christopher, while visiting my best friend, who lived on the opposite coast. Coincidentally, at the time I was on strike against relationships in general and firmly set in a "single and having fun" state of mind. Perfect time to find a husband right?

Chris happened to be Bestie's cousin, and I'd known her since we were eleven. How I managed to not cross paths with my husband for the 12 years we'd been friends? Beats me! But Chris and I have one of those 6 degrees of separation kind of stories. Went to the same high school (at different times), our dads worked for the same company (in different states), and so on.

Jeep and I in the early days.
So here I am, 3000 miles away from home, and dead-set on just "having fun." I will not be tied down. No way. Not me. And I get off the airplane to where Bestie and Chris are waiting and right off the bat we are making googly eyes at each other. Just having fun. Right. 

How did just having fun turned into I can't possibly live another day on this earth without you? That's another mystery of life. I'm going to be cliche for a minute and say we just kind of hit it off. We didn't just have fun together, there was some force beyond our control, compelling us to share our deepest darkest secrets, hopes, dreams, and fears.

Me and Daniel.
Then there's the kicker: Chris also happens to be the single dad of an adorably cute 2.5 year old boy named Daniel.

Here I am, Ms. "I'll never get tied down", and I have fallen madly in love with a single dad. Now what?

So I did what any sane person would do. I quit my job. I loaded as many of my belongings as I could fit into my Mazda Protege. I left my family, friends, and hometown. And I moved 3000 miles across the country to begin this life as a wife and eventually as an adoptive mom to Daniel and a biological mom to our other son, Mason.

Now I get excited about things like Daniel learning to tie his shoes, planting cauliflower in a raised garden bed, or making Mason laugh for the first time. If you had walked up to 20-year-old me and told her that in 6 years she'd be excited about buying a new stroller she'd have laughed in your face.

The day Mason was born.
But there's something to be said for becoming a mom, and it's something you can never quite really understand until you're deep in the trenches, exhausted beyond belief, teeth a little fuzzy (when was the last time I brushed them?), getting peed on for the umpteenth time and this little face looks up at you like you're his world. And you are.

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