In another life, I was an Olympic Athlete. I spent my time working out and traveling the world. I owned a pair of red faux snakeskin boots. I had a pair of red leather pants. I went to a Sports Illustrated party that ended at 7 am. I drank Red Bull and vodka before I knew it may cause serious health risks. I had an orange faux fur coat that I bought in New York City. I once had hot pink hair another time red hair and another time bleach blonde streaks. I was healthy and thin. I was young. I had no attachments.
These days my clothes are well-worn business casual usually in need of ironing or dry cleaning. Often there is milk, yogurt, dog hair or even maple syrup on them. On the weekends I wear old stained maternity pants, my husband’s old t-shirts and various raggedy slippers or flip flops depending on the season. I haven’t been out of the country in five years. I have barely been out of state. I can’t remember the last time I attended a party let alone one that lasted until 7am. An orange faux fur coat would just look silly at this point. The only streaks I have these days are gray ones.
By comparison to my life now that previous life seems glittery and glamorous, although that would be a stretch of the imagination by any means. There are days when I could look back to those times with longing. But I don’t. There are days when I could blink my eyes and wish to go back in time. But I don’t.
My husband once showed the DVD of me competing in the Olympics to a group of friends and a friend turned to me and said, “Is that just the hardest thing you have ever done?” Without missing a beat I said, “No, being a parent is.” But I can tell you from experience that I would rather dance for 10 minutes in an old pair of maternity pants any day with my kids than dance all night in a pair of red leather pants.