Rise and Whine

The woman must have thought I was a baby snatcher. I explained that I was just reminiscing about my long ago mornings with the double stroller. Fascinating, the look on her face told me. The slight eye roll provided insight into what she was really thinking: weirdo.

It was not yet six in the morning, and the Starbucks was empty except for me and the woman with the two little tots. I was still wearing the same tee shirt I had worn to bed, although luckily I had remembered to put on pants. The crease lines from my pillow were still embedded in my cheeks, little black crumbs of mascara nestled stubbornly in the inner corners of my eyes. It had been difficult to muster up the energy to get there, but the prospect of a heavy dose of caffeine had strengthened my resolve.

The woman with the stroller looked fresh faced, her young skin smooth and slightly rosy from her chilly morning walk. Her children were well scrubbed and dressed for the day -- shoes, socks, pants with coordinated tops, medium weight jackets. I was impressed.

Funny, I used to be capable of such feats. Back in the day, I would be out and about at the crack of dawn, and, despite having already spent considerable time feeding and changing diapers and engaging in various forms of baby conversation, the kids and I would be all decked out neatly in something other than pajamas. These days, when Manny's whimpering drags me out of bed before sunrise, I feel thankful that I at least don't have to dress him. And, when I venture out to Starbucks still wearing my pj's, I feel thankful that at least I didn't leave the house buck naked. Aim low, you don't get disappointed.

As idyllic as the tableau appeared, I'm guessing the young woman with the double stroller does not realize how lucky she is. Lucky to be spending her days with these chubby cheeked little creatures who, in about five seconds, will be all grown up and living their own lives. I distinctly remember wheeling my double stroller early one morning down a street filled with commuters heading to the train. I prattled on to the backs of my children's' heads, telling them how lucky all those folks were to be going to work instead of facing a seemingly interminable day of child rearing. (Passersby gave me strange looks and a wide berth; as it turns out, both kids were sound asleep while I was carrying on a conversation, apparently, with myself.) Through the rosy lens of hindsight, I can't figure out for the life of me why I wasn't downright giddy about my life that morning.

My oldest child has been thrust into the business world head first, and is still adjusting to the shock of working twenty hour days (including weekends) and having no time to accomplish the most basic tasks. No doubt, she misses the lazy days of college, and probably has a good chuckle when she thinks about how stressed she thought she was. One day, I hope, she'll be wheeling a stroller, and, no doubt, she'll feel nostalgic pangs for the camaraderie of work, the occasional "atta girl."

Yep, soon she'll be the one talking to herself and glancing suspiciously at dewy eyed middle aged women gazing menacingly at her children. I hope she'll enjoy every moment.