When I was young, I planned to take the creative world by storm. First it was advertising. By my twenties I'd be a creative director with dozens of trophies and awards lining my corner office in the hottest boutique agency in New York.
I did all the right things, went to one of the top Universities for advertising, crafted my portfolio, devoured all the industry magazines, but other than an assistant position at an agency specialising in toys (and not creativity), nothing really happened.
A few years later I switched tracks; I was going to be a magazine editor, tottering around on my skyscraper heels and sitting in the front row at Chanel during Fashion Week. Of course, during this time I would also write the great American novel.
Flash forward, now firmly ensconced in my forties. I'm neither an ad mogul, fashion editor nor accomplished author. I'm not even in New York any more. I'm a working mom writing in my South London kitchen. Forget Louboutins, I'm lucky if I've got shoes on at all.
I'm so ordinary, I'm practically a stereotype
I find folding laundry really zen. I feel a sense of accomplishment when I unload the dishwasher. I love grocery shopping! Huh? Where is the spunky New York chick with the more, more, more! attitude? The one eating pasta almost every night so she could afford a fabulous shoe collection and 9pm reservations at trendy restaurants? Well, at 9pm, there's a good chance she's in flannel pyjamas getting ready for bed. Sassy!
Reality kicks in
Sure I write mom blogs from home, but first and foremost I'm a wife and mother. It's not the 'ordinary' of it all that freaks me out, it's just how comfortable and content I am with the 'mundane.'
It's odd finding yourself living a different life than you expected. I'm not bemoaning this fact, but I'm honestly flummoxed that I'm so okay with it. No, not 'okay,' happy with it! I think when you've had kids you give up regrets, because you realise that even one little alteration might have changed the children you have. And the fact is, I have no regrets.
Same-old, brand-new me
Not to worry, I'm far from a Stepford wife. There are no cartoon birds flying around my kitchen while I sing Snow White. At my core, I'm still the same. Sure I'm a responsible mother, yes I make the beds every morning and get my child to school on time, but I'm still me.
Okay, so instead of the three "D's" of my youth - Dinner, Drinks and Dancing, it's more like dinner at 5:30 with a five year old and maybe a 10-minute dance break, with said five year old, before cuddles and bed.
And, I have to say, that is far better than an overpriced martini in a dark bar.
Sharon, Working Mom and Native New Yorker