Once, I was Aunt Su-Su.
I wore heels and leather and snakeskin. I blew my hair out and had my toes done. I drove a sports (okay, sporty) car. I ate dinner in restaurants. I traveled with my husband. I was hungover. Often.
Now, I’m Mommy.
My favorite outfit is a shirt that unbuttons below my nursing bra, pants with a drawstring, athletic socks and a plastic necklace my child can chew. I haven’t showered without another human being in the room in five months. The cargo space of my vehicle fits an oversized stroller, a value pack of diapers, a value pack of wipes, ten bags of groceries plus two pallets from Costco, two boxes for Goodwill, a sterilite tub from Target and still has room for a hippopotamus (I have solid packing skills, but still). My idea of dinner is Pei Wei on the living room floor. The farthest I’ve ventured with my little bundle of baby is two hours across the state, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation, terrified he would wake up. And I can still get a hangover… only, now it’s off one beer.
Glory glory hallelujah, the baby life begins.