A 4 AM Epiphany & Old Denim Jacket

The other morning at 4 am, I laid awake in bed, ultimately distracted by the flood of Facebook memories that paraded before me from birthdays' past. I was now twenty-nine years old, the mother of my nearly sixteen month old daughter, and twenty-four weeks pregnant with my son. This is who I was, as I stared at a much more vibrant, freshly twenty-two year-old version of myself, albeit drunken and ready to party. (For the record, that was the only time in my entire life I ever drank so much that I was sick...)

I had just spent the day before celebrating my most recent birthday with my little family, going out for dinner and then coming home to end our day the way we always do, in jammies on the couch. I laughed because I had worn my favourite denim jacket that day, and took a photo with my daughter in her matching one. It was the same denim jacket that I was wearing seven years prior at my twenty-second birthday. I felt like that denim jacket was the only common-thread between then and now; unable to draw any other parallels within myself in these two very different times.

Looking at these old birthday photos brought me back to a time and place in my life when my social circle was something I really valued and drew my sense of identity from. I had many friends from different walks of life, I had a schedule that I gladly kept filled, and I don't think I really thought all that much about the more serious parts of growing up, like where I would end up, or who would still be there to see when I did get there. I don't necessarily think that dwelling on those types of questions are particularly important at that age. In fact, that more I flipped through these photos, the more nostalgic I became for how I must have felt back then. I am certainly not saying that I would trade anything I have now for what I thought I had back then, but there is most definitely this bittersweet fearlessness that accompanies even the anxiety-ridden (me) when you're merely twenty-two years young. I don't think you fear the future because you're too consumed in your present, and you should be. That's a time in your life where you can be selfish and make mistakes (sometimes more than once), as long as one day you use ALL of that experience to figure out WHO you are.

The me now barely recognized the me from back then, as A LOT of life stood between us. However, it was as though if for a second I could bottle up that younger, more outgoing and fun, worry-less me, I would have done so, swallowing it to restore all of those things within myself.

I very well could have focused more on the other faces in these photos; ones that AT MOST I only see now while lurking social media. I could have dwelled on what went wrong in these relationships, or how life would be if they were still here. I could have retraced the path we once walked together before going our separate ways, but I didn't do any of those things. Instead, I was fixated on myself. You know, sometimes a song plays, or a band I used to listen to pops into my head, and I think, "I used to listen to this / them back when I was cooler". Whether or not I was ever "cool" remains to be an irrelevant mystery, but I realize how often I DO compare my current self to who I was back then. I sometimes think about who I was and what I did. I used to feel like I was really living when I was writing for my school paper (because I truly believed I would be a known writer someday). I also worked part-time at the campus coffee shop (which gave me that "hipster" vibe I so badly wanted tattooed across my entire existence). I wore thrift-store dresses and carried second-hand bags, I swayed to and from whatever group of friends I desired (feeling like I had a place in each of them), and I just really really thought that I was successfully defining and finding myself.

I mentioned how a lot of life separates her and I, and it does. I look at those pictures and automatically think in terms of years. For example, at twenty-two, I was two years away from almost dying in a tragic car accident. My entire life was brought to an alarming halt. Though I didn't die, I feel like a part of me left for good. That fearless girl I used to think I was definitely stopped existing that day. I dealt with a lot of shit for two more years after that - medical, legal, personal - all stemming from that one incident. Things like that change a person whether they'd like to admit it or not. Though I am so so happy that I never let it take over or defeat me in the long run, it did succeed in making me far more serious and cautious. I think the "fun" or "spontaneous" bits of myself took a damaging hit as a result. I also began isolating myself a lot more, not even on purpose at first. It just became a coping mechanism that left me feeling further from things I didn't necessarily want to face. To this day I remain this way. I am not someone who is eager to make plans, hangout, or have a reoccurring group of friends. I know that it sounds bizarre, but I find solitude in my own little corner of the world. I can quite honestly pin-point when I became this way, and not a day goes by where I don't think about how different that or I would be had that accident not occurred.

More positively, at twenty-two, I was only one year away from meeting Justin; a guy unlike any I had ever shown interest in. However, it was only after meeting Justin that I realized any "interest" I ever thought I had in another guy prior to him wasn't real. With Justin I just knew for certain that an entire future existed, and that the two of us were at the very core of it. We would hangout in a mutual group of friends, and whenever it was time to part ways, I would find myself wondering where he was going, or who he would see; completely envious of anything or one who got to spend more time with him. The very best part about finding your person is that your lives become one continuous hangout, and you never have to wonder about the "what if's" because you experience life together. At twenty-two, I was four years away from marrying Justin, which remains to be one of the best decisions I have ever made.

At twenty-two, I was five years away from becoming a mother. At twenty-seven I gave birth to the most phenomenal soul I have ever known. The rest is history because nothing has been the same since. My life became enriched, and finally felt... full. With so much love and gratitude in my heart, it was a no brainer when deciding to have another baby. Once Rowan was born I was pretty sold on the idea of a million of her. So, that brings us to seven years later, as I sit here typing, twenty-five weeks pregnant with our second child, our first son.

I won't lie. When I put my phone down that morning, having looked at those photos about ten times, I laid there wondering if I had lost the best parts of myself over these years. Some days I feel like my total introverted ways, paired with my inability to drive or be as independent as I'd like to be (or used to be, even at twenty-two), mashed together with my simple and monotonous lifestyle, makes me a total dud. Just when I started feeling like I was attending was my own personal pity party, I looked over to my left. That is when an overwhelming and undeniable epiphany struck me.

She laid there fast asleep, as beautiful as ever. Her eyelashes rested gracefully against each other as she looked completely peaceful next to her Momma. Suddenly I realized what I already knew to be true in my heart; that throughout all of those years, regardless of what happened from then to now, life still led me to her, and she is everything. Who I was, who I thought I was, what I thought I was, all fall short compared to who I get to be as her mother. I may be a little less vibrant or fun these days compared to back then, but it is my absolute pleasure to stand back and watch her shine enough to light up the whole damn room. She does that, and I feel the warmth that radiates from her each and every day. I realized that I never lost the best parts of myself because she IS the best parts of myself, and that's only the beginning of her. She is so much more all on her very own.

I find fulfillment in new ways now, and though the crowd I run with may be small - as in, only stands as tall as my hip and enthusiastically calls me "Mum" fifty million times a day, I have never felt more whole. Each day is another chance to spend time with the greatest little human I have ever met, to teach her new things, laugh at the weird things she does, and marvel at the things I can't believe a mere sixteen month old can do.

It wasn't until the following morning that I realized something else. The denim jacket. There IS a difference between the one I wore seven years ago and the one I still wear today. After Rowan was born, I bought an iron-on patch that says "Mama", and proudly stuck it on the front pocket. It was a badge of honor to me. I branded myself as the best and happiest version I have ever been, a mother.

As it turns out (for me at least), "real living" was never found writing for the school newspaper, or working in coffee shops. It was never in thrifty clothing, or songs I used to listen to. Sure, those things are great fragments of my past that I truly enjoyed, but really living is waking up each day with a grand purpose, and for me, that is raising this kiddo of mine, while growing another. Really living is when she waves to me upon waking up each morning as though she hadn't been next to me all night. Really living is watching her face light up every time the Sesame Street theme song comes on, when she excitedly yells "yes!" while throwing both arms in the air, and every single time she gives me a hug or kiss just because. Really living is watching the human life I created happily run to her "Daaaadeeee" when he gets home from work each day. For me, really living is doing exactly as I am, day in and out. It's nothing extravagant or fast-paced. It's a lot of the same over and over again, but damn, does it ever feel right.

Over the years we change, inevitably and naturally. We are supposed to, we are human. If we were meant to always stay the same we would be a lamp or something. It's nice to reminisce of younger days when life felt differently, but whether we realized it or not at the time, we were always working towards a different future us. A better future us. Eventually, if we're lucky, all of those good side-effects of maturing, falling in love, starting a family, or choosing a path and charging it with determination and conviction, leave us more confident and refined.

My denim jacket is a hell of a lot more worn in all these years later. The colour has faded from all of the washes, there are some holes and tears, maybe a stain or two that just won't quit, and of course, the addition of the iron-on patch. However, as time goes on it only fits more comfortably, and that is my favourite thing about it.