I have a driver’s license photo that many women would envy. Taken just two days after I returned from a beautiful honeymoon in Hawaii, it captures a moment when I was radiating happiness. You can almost feel the tropical breeze and smell the coconut lingering on my sun-kissed skin. My eyes are vibrant, reflecting countless stunning sunsets, and my smile is wide and soft from a week filled with love. I remember putting on my favorite pair of jeans for the DMV—only to realize they were too loose. What an inconvenience that was!
Now, fast forward five years, and here I am, waiting in an airport security line, hunched over with a car-seat carrier the size of a small shed strapped to my back. One hand drags a wobbly suitcase while the other grips a small boy who is kneeling on the floor, looking up at me with an expression of utter discontent. A large bag filled with snacks, crayons, and airplane toys swings across my middle like an udder, and I suspect my shirt has ridden up above my midriff, but what can I do about it now?
The trip had been a challenge. Traveling solo with my 3-year-old son to visit friends in New York turned into a test of patience. Somewhere between Milwaukee and Detroit, my son lost his mind—as people had warned me about the “Terrible Threes.” That outburst occurred on American Airlines Flight 312, and after three days filled with tears and sleepless nights, all I wanted was to return home.
As we approached the TSA agent, a flicker of relief washed over me. We were almost there. I handed him my crumpled boarding tickets along with my shiny driver’s license. He peered at the picture, then back at me with a look of disbelief. “Hmm,” he muttered, tilting his head sideways before glancing back and squinting. His pen hovered over our boarding passes for what felt like ages until he finally scribbled something down. “Close enough,” he said.
“Close enough?!” I exclaimed, snatching the tickets from his hand, likely with more indignation than necessary. I tossed my head, hoping my tangled hair would swish across his face in retaliation.
Despite the chaos, we made it onto our final flight without further incident. On the plane, my son finally settled down with his coloring books while I found myself staring at my driver’s license. The carefree, glowing face in the picture seemed like a different person. Yes, years of sleepless nights had taken their toll—my hair was shorter, my skin paler, and my face rounder. But it was more than just physical changes; the essence of happiness had shifted. In that photo, I radiated genuine joy, likely enhanced by the mai tais I had enjoyed. That day at the airport, my mood clearly reflected the stress I was under.
I glanced at my little boy beside me, who was busy with his crayon, looking up at me with a sweet smile. What does he see when he looks at me? While I may never return to that carefree Hawaiian paradise, and I know I will face my share of challenging days, I refuse to let anyone question my happiness or my glow again. I have much to be grateful for, plenty of joy left, and I might even invest in a few products to help rejuvenate my skin.
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In summary, life changes us, often in ways we don’t expect, but amidst the chaos of motherhood, we can still find our happiness. So, are you still the same person you once were, or have you evolved into someone even better?
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