What would you be if you could be anything your heart desired? Cadel has just drifted off for a nap, and as I gaze off , my sleep-hungry eyes glazed over but somehow not ready to sleep just yet, I find myself mulling over questions like this. Am I where my heart longs to be? Is this where I’m meant to be? Are these the same thing even? I survey the scene: me in a milk-dampened cotton shirt with drool marks on the shoulders, sitting on top of several rainbow-colored rattles, surrounded by soft muslin blankets and a few burp cloths whose fabric nonsensically boasts bright pictures of firetrucks and motorcycles, a warm bundle of baby napping peacefully on the futon beside me.
If you had asked me a year ago what I would be if I could be anything at all, I would have answered without hesitation, an Olympic athlete. What a life! Being in superhuman physical condition, wholly committed to my sport and competing on a world stage in front of adoring fans…
It seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, the transition from neat, tastefully decorated home to toy-strewn baby cave. My mind is still adjusting to the change, but he had my heart at first glance. And anyway, I’m finding that motherhood is, strangely, not unlike the Olympic dream at all, minus of course the cheering crowds and chiseled body. As any mom out there can confirm, this baby business does indeed require superhuman amounts of physical and mental stamina as well as self-sacrificing commitment, and every day is training day.
What is fame really worth anyway?
My victories are quiet, but a gold medal can’t hold a candle to these smiles.