Once upon a time there was a different me. I was serious. Now don’t shake your head like that. It’s making me dizzy.
It’s true. It was a long, long time ago when the earth was still flat (as was my tummy) and I didn’t give a hoot about the whole breast v.s. bottle feeding debate. (Secretly, I still don’t. Do what works, mothers. They’re your babies and your boobs, after all.)
I wasn’t always this carefree, stay-at-home writer mom, and 1/8th time school secretary. It’s true. “Other Me” went to work early every morning and often worked late into the evening. I was driven to succeed in the harsh world of business. Other Me was a financial planner. Please, I implore you, stop shaking your head. It’s stirring up my vertigo. I realize this is hard to believe, but I even wore a fitted, scratchy wool suit. The girls were locked and loaded. Isn’t that what they say on TLC’s What Not to Wear? Except my “girls” have always been fine just hanging out, they’ve never been in the need of a blazer lock down. They’re too polite to get carried away and make a run for fun and those lacy tank tops.
Wait a minute. What was I blogging about? Right.
I’m a recovering Type A Personality. I like to think that I’m in remission and settling into a long, blissful future of Type B tranquillity. Life’s worries will slide off me like butter on a cob of corn or hot fudge off ice cream. Yum.
But here’s the point, and surely there must be one, I’m like a zebra, posing the age old question – black horse with white stripes or white horse with black stripes?
Am I Type A personality in recovery, or have I always been an undercover Type B? Although Other Me earned an overflowing truck load of cash, she was stressed, somewhat frantic and lived for the weekends. “Today’s Me,” earns a half-full little red wagon of cash, is nearly stress free, still a bit frantic, and lives in the moment.
So, Other Me, you’ve been put on notice. You will stay securely in the past as long as we can still pay our bills, save a bit for the future, and enjoy the present with our kids. But the minute I need you, I’ll dust off your resume, dress you up in a navy blue pant suit, and have you in a tidy office on Broadway, before you can shake your head. Slowly. Vertigo. Remember?