There is something about motherhood that changes you. I don't just mean in an "I'm more mature" kind of way. I am convinced that pregnancy and childbirth chemically change your body. My body doesn't look the same. Even though I'm the same size, my clothes don't fit the same way, I don't react the same way to similar situations any more; even my courses (sorry to be crass) don't happen the same way. I have completely changed. It's like the little aliens while moving around in my body re-programmed me and I will never be the same again. I need to figure out who I am all over again and get reacquainted.
Just an everyday example...
Since Devil's Slide took out Highway 1 just south of Pacifica, I have to drive down the 280 to the 92 and go through Half Moon Bay to get to the barn. Not a big deal - it just adds about 20 minutes, assuming I'm not hitting commute traffic when everyone from the Coastside merges onto the simple country one-laner for the 13 miles to the ocean. So, my view is a bit different taking the inland detour.
I noticed today, for example, a group of cyclists on the frontage road by San Bruno. "A pretty big club," I thought to myself as I continued down the freeway. I was surprised just how big... 3 miles down the road there was another group coming onto the freeway for a short distance. I then noticed the police escorts on the side of the road helping to deflect the traffic from them. "This must be a local charity ride," I thought. "Perhaps they're riding to San Jose." A sign on a chase/support van next to me on the freeway told me they were doing an AIDS LifeCycle ride. When I saw them at the north end of Crystal Springs, I thought they'd go under the freeway and head inland for the Camino Real and down to San Jose. However, at the 92 junction, they were snaking their way right instead of left. "They're going to Santa Cruz!" I thought. Winding my way up the narrow country road with them, I started thinking about them and wondering about their individual stories. Being that close, you can make out more details of them, see their muscles, some clearly trained for cycling and others just look like weekend warriors. Some of them rode in groups with jerseys all alike, clearly a team within a team. Others treated the ride with more humor and added tutus to their bike shorts or tiger masks to their helmets, reminding me of the Bay to Breakers crowd ("So San Francisco," I mused).
Along the climb up the mountain, small groups of people had pulled over to clap and cheer in support of the athletes. Some with boas on the head or sporting signs. One of the signs indicates that the group is cycling for Los Angeles. "That's impressive," I think. "It will take them a week to get there." I have been following this parade of sorts for about 20 miles now and have been amused, slightly intrigued, and, yes, impressed. I come up to another sign held up by a woman festively decorated and sitting in the bed of her pickup: "I was sick and you visited me - thanks for the support."........ I burst into tears! What happened?! I was just really enjoying myself - the beautiful weather, the curiosities along the road, the reward of seeing my horse... now I've been thrown into a mess of tears by a sentimental Hallmark-esque sign.
I was discussing this with my friend Deborah just yesterday. There was something on TV (neither of us could remember what) and the story line involved an unexpected event - like a fire or earthquake or something - and a small child was trapped inside. Deborah and I (although we were watching it separately) had the exact same reaction: unbridled panic. It was bad TV, obviously fake, but we couldn't help having physiological reactions to it. I happened to be watching it with my husband. I literally stood up, said "Get the baby!" aloud with tears in my eyes, and paced the floor for the 15 seconds as the drama unfolded. My husband, clearly confused by my actions, states the obvious: "It's only a movie. It's fake!" Of course, I know this. It unfortunately can't change my now natural and physical reaction.
I guess I didn't realize that in birthing my babies, I'd be rebirthing myself as well. Whether I like it or not, it seems, this additionally emotional and protective person is now me. I'm not sure how it happened, but it seems (thankfully) that I'm not the only mom that's found herself changed. I guess it's time to come to terms with it. So, I'll "turn and face the strange" and learn how to with these post-pregnancy cha-cha-changes!!
