I’M NOT LEAVING THE OLD ME COMPLETELY BEHIND
I used to be cool, I promise.
This is something I can see myself telling my kids someday. But — petty confession time — it’s something I find myself saying in my head more and more frequently.
Sometimes, for example, I’ll be sitting around with my husband and in-laws, wearing jogging pants, permanent spittle puddle on my shoulder, and I’ll just be thinking, “Guys! Guys! Back in Ontario, I used to be a really successful and independent woman with a clear career trajectory!”
Those insecure moments happen when I’m — for one reason or another — feeling less and less like Julia and more and more like “Jesse’s wife,” or “Chile and Tripp’s stepmom.”
And now, more than ever, I’m morphing into something different altogether, something even more all-consuming: Indiana’s mom.
For so long, my identity was so closely tied to my profession. I was Julia LeConte, staffer at FLARE magazine, or Julia LeConte, music editor. Even when I first moved here, I was Julia LeConte, features writer at the Edmonton Journal. Second to my career, I was Julia, triathlete, and Julia, world traveller.
Now, most of the time I don’t feel like any of those people. I’m Julia, “does that smell like poop to you?” Or Julia, whose major outing of the day is strolling with baby to Shoppers Drug Mart. So, who am I, now? Now, I’m Julia Lipscombe, wife and mother/stepmother of three. That’s a beautiful sentence and I’m damn proud of it, but it still doesn’t quite sit right.
In a very short time, I’ve gone from not getting enough sleep because I was out several nights a week for my job — reviewing shows and work-related socializing — to not getting enough sleep because I’m up every few hours with my baby.
What I’ve gained — a husband and a family — are better and more fulfilling than the other stuff — by a long shot. I’d make the choice again any day and I have zero regrets.
But it doesn’t mean that letting go — even temporarily — of the things I used to take so much pride in has been easy. And it doesn’t mean I miss being a complete person outside of being “mom.”
There’s a scene on CBC’s (refreshingly provocative) new show Workin’ Moms where, shortly after she returns to work after mat leave, Kate is wistfully gazing at videos of her ninemonth-old son at home with his nanny.
It’s such a working-mom cliche, and we’ve seen this in films and television before. But it still works because it still rings so true. It’s the dilemma we haven’t quite solved yet.
Kate’s still the badass advertising star she was before children. She’s still the hot wife who wants to be psyched for date nights with her husband. She still wants to go running every morning.
But she can’t quite do it all like she did before. And now, Kate’s also the mom who’s pumping in a bathroom stall on her lunch break.
Finding the balance and happy place between both selves is tricky, and something I’m learning I need a ton of patience for.
I want to be Julia, long-distance runner again. I want to be Julia and Jesse, intrepid world travellers again. I don’t want to reach the point where I own more leggings than regular pants.
So, I’m vowing to keep my friendships with non-mom friends as solid as ever. I’m making sure that Jesse and I get nights out together once in a while (God bless the in-laws), and I’m committing to finding a job that makes me as proud as my previous ones ever did, even if I don’t spend quite so much time doing it.
I can be the same person, even with wildly different habits.
Case in point: Two-and-a-half year ago, right before I moved to Edmonton, I scored a one-on-one interview with Kendrick Lamar. I’ll never forget how I bounced down the downtown Toronto streets after it was over — ecstatic in that moment and hurrying back to the NOW magazine offices to write.
I felt that same joyful liberation the other week, under totally different circumstances. Jesse had taken Indiana to work with him so I could have the morning to buy a dress and get my hair done. It was sunny and mild and walking down 124 Street sans baby felt glorious. Credo coffee in hand, I had a real spring in my step and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
So, the rush I used to get from reaching a career high point I was now getting simply from not being attached to a stroller.
I’m not the same person that I was anymore, I’m better for it. But sometimes, it’s worthwhile to get back in touch with that independent woman. If only for a walk down 124 Street. It did me wonders.