I Miss Me

8

August 12, 2013 by Katia

Remember when Winnie the Pooh came knocking on Rabbit’s door and Rabbit cried “I’m not here!”. Well, this is kind of a Winnie the Pooh/Rabbit sort of situation. I’m not here. No, really. 4 Year Old and I are travelling back home to Israel for a week. I hope to share some of our experiences with you when we’re back, but in the mean time I leave you with reblogged post about losing your sense of identity as a new mom.

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May 2013 will mark 4 years since I became a mom. Surprisingly, until yesterday I’ve never experienced that “oh my god, I’M A MOM, no way!” moment. That moment when the full gravity of your (not so) new status suddenly dawns on you. I suppose I’ve been chasing that title for so long and wanted it so badly, that ever since I became a mom I haven’t stopped wearing it as an honorary badge, never really fantasizing about going back to my badgeless days. It was a seemingly random moment yesterday when it all sunk in. I was standing by the kettle celebrating the fact that 7 Month Old was finally napping by brewing myself some tea. It was a double celebration, in fact, since I had just learned that one of my posts was going to be featured on a website called Mamapedia. I was mulling the name over and over in my mind, Mamapedia, Mamapedia. It must have been that name that brought things home for me. Mamapedia sounds so very official and uncompromisingly mommyish. Clearly the name alludes to an encyclopedia. Mothers bestowing motherly wisdom and knowledge. Enter me. Whaaaaaaat? goes my inner Mila Kunis. Mamapedia. Me on Mamapedia. I’m a mother. I’M a MOTHER. OMG, OMG, OMG!

I’d be lying if I said I’ve never had an “OMG, I’m a mom” fleeting thought before, but it was always a deliberate, artificially generated one driven by a desire to feel this reality deeply to my very core, and a vague notion that I’m supposed to experience such a moment. I mean, doesn’t everyone?

I think a possible reason for my delayed OMGIAM reaction was that I never looked at this new role of mine through the eyes of my kids. To me I was the same kid but with kids. Reminders that this is not the same kid keep popping up everywhere, but I have a pretty strong pop up blocker. I don’t want to be reminded of that distant me. The me who was not a mom, but just a daughter. The me who was just a wife, the me who was just a friend. It hurts too much to think of her, because it’s not only new children but new continents, responsibilities and priorities that separate me from her and I know that it might be years before we reunite, if at all. It hurts most when I see glimpses of her in other people around me, because this is when I feel at my most un-me. I’m the girl in high heels who happens to be wearing flats for the last four years. I’m the restaurant lover who knows every new restaurant in Tel-Aviv 2006 but lives in Toronto 2013. I’m the frequent flyer who barely travels, the girl who would spend at least an hour getting ready for a date but doesn’t have an hour to spare for preparing for dates she doesn’t go on and it makes me sad that the people I see her reflected in, don’t even know that she’s there. Mamapedia me wouldn’t want to trade places with her. It’s not her childless life that I want. Not for anything, what I have is way too precious, but god, do I miss me, so bitterly there’s a lump in my throat.

Her