"Time Travel" by Stephanie Brambila
I often think about the childless, single girl that I used to be, living in San Francisco. Days were spent having crushes on professors, trips to Target and lazy days in bed. I want to go back in time and have a talk with that girl. I want to sit down, Indian style on her futon, while sipping a cup of mint tea in her violet painted bedroom. We could sit together under her window, watching the rain drop off petals from the gardenia tree. At 26, she is not thinking about children at all, she is thinking about whom she is going to seduce and finishing her thesis.
There are three things that I need to tell her about the future and being a mother. They are things that will blow her mind. She will roll her eyes at me and I will secretly hate her smugness.
“Listen, there isn’t much time”, I whisper. “Please listen closely.” “Go on, enlighten me”, she says sarcastically, while staring blankly out the window.
“The first message is about how tired you will be after having children”, I say. I tell her that she will be tired beyond words, but that somehow when you become a mother you manage to live on little or no sleep at all.
I try to give her a concrete example. “Remember last semester when you waited until the last minute to open a book at finals week? You actually believed that a combination of no doze, coffee and sheer determination would help you pass that final. What you ended up with was a case of the farts, the craps and a “D”. Remember how tired you were the next day?” She emphatically shakes her head “Yes!” “There is no comparison to what you know today as “tired”, after having children. None”, I say. She has the audacity to roll her eyes at me. I want to slap her, shake her into a harmless coma and scream, “Oh, you think you’re tired NOW?? HA! I’ll show you tired!” But instead I calmly say, “My level of tired now is total exhaustion that only a mother could understand. It is emotional, physical and down right unexplainable in any language. I am so tired that I pray that vampires are real and that the one that bites me puts me in a deep sleep, preferably for a thousand years.” She thinks I am being dramatic. “I’m serious”, I say. Then I tell her, “You will be so tired that your favorite gift for Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day and Christmas will be to sleep in. And sex? You will think about sex with your husband, but you will do more thinking than doing after having children, because you are tired.” Her eyes widen. “Wait, I have a husband in the future?” she asks. I smile and say, “Yes, and he’s not only one of the most amazing people that you will ever know, but he’s a total babe as well”. She looks pleased.
“The second message is that you will feel like you are completely losing your mind after having children. I know that sometimes you feel sad and you lay in bed all day crying from loneliness and wondering if anyone will ever love you. You question your mental stability, but it’s just depression.” She looks embarrassed that I know her secret. I say, “I want you to know that you are not crazy and you are more talented than you will ever comprehend. In the future, there will be two little men and an adoring husband who will love you so much that it will sometimes suffocate you. You’re not crazy now, trust me. But guess what? After having kids, you will lose your damned mind.” I pause for dramatic effect.
“In the future, you work for a demanding boss who yells at you when his espresso gets cold. You walk on eggshells for eight hours Monday through Friday wondering when he will snap. And that Master’s degree that you are working on? In the future, it’s only used for bragging rights at Mommy and Me parties.
“Listen, there isn’t much time”, I whisper. “Please listen closely.” “Go on, enlighten me”, she says sarcastically, while staring blankly out the window.
“The first message is about how tired you will be after having children”, I say. I tell her that she will be tired beyond words, but that somehow when you become a mother you manage to live on little or no sleep at all.
I try to give her a concrete example. “Remember last semester when you waited until the last minute to open a book at finals week? You actually believed that a combination of no doze, coffee and sheer determination would help you pass that final. What you ended up with was a case of the farts, the craps and a “D”. Remember how tired you were the next day?” She emphatically shakes her head “Yes!” “There is no comparison to what you know today as “tired”, after having children. None”, I say. She has the audacity to roll her eyes at me. I want to slap her, shake her into a harmless coma and scream, “Oh, you think you’re tired NOW?? HA! I’ll show you tired!” But instead I calmly say, “My level of tired now is total exhaustion that only a mother could understand. It is emotional, physical and down right unexplainable in any language. I am so tired that I pray that vampires are real and that the one that bites me puts me in a deep sleep, preferably for a thousand years.” She thinks I am being dramatic. “I’m serious”, I say. Then I tell her, “You will be so tired that your favorite gift for Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day and Christmas will be to sleep in. And sex? You will think about sex with your husband, but you will do more thinking than doing after having children, because you are tired.” Her eyes widen. “Wait, I have a husband in the future?” she asks. I smile and say, “Yes, and he’s not only one of the most amazing people that you will ever know, but he’s a total babe as well”. She looks pleased.
“The second message is that you will feel like you are completely losing your mind after having children. I know that sometimes you feel sad and you lay in bed all day crying from loneliness and wondering if anyone will ever love you. You question your mental stability, but it’s just depression.” She looks embarrassed that I know her secret. I say, “I want you to know that you are not crazy and you are more talented than you will ever comprehend. In the future, there will be two little men and an adoring husband who will love you so much that it will sometimes suffocate you. You’re not crazy now, trust me. But guess what? After having kids, you will lose your damned mind.” I pause for dramatic effect.
“In the future, you work for a demanding boss who yells at you when his espresso gets cold. You walk on eggshells for eight hours Monday through Friday wondering when he will snap. And that Master’s degree that you are working on? In the future, it’s only used for bragging rights at Mommy and Me parties.
At five-o-clock you rush out the door to pick up your two toddlers who are twelve months apart. Your drive home is exactly 22 minutes via the freeway and in those 22 minutes you will experience a full range of emotions. Every night, like clockwork, your youngest son will start screaming at the top of his lungs like he is being stabbed. A permanent crick will develop in your neck from looking over your shoulder at them, while keeping your eyes on the road. While the scream fest continues, your older son will start an endless repetitive monologue about dog poop.
Mama! Dog poop! Mama! Mama! Stinky dog tail! Mama? Dog poop! Mama! Stinky, stinky dog tail! Mama!!
This, interspersed with the ear shattering screams from your other son, will continue over and over again like a broken record until you get home. It is a mega mix of sounds especially made just for you. You will want to drive off the freeway in slow motion ‘Dukes of Hazard’ style just to distract them long enough to pipe down. Tears will be streaming down your face from laughing and crying all at the same time. You will feel completely insane.” She looks afraid.
“What’s the third message?” she hesitantly asks. “The third message is the most important”, I tell her. “It’s about getting your heartbroken and falling in love.” She starts to tell me about the day her first serious love decided he didn’t love her anymore, but I already know the story. There is no comparison.
“What’s the third message?” she hesitantly asks. “The third message is the most important”, I tell her. “It’s about getting your heartbroken and falling in love.” She starts to tell me about the day her first serious love decided he didn’t love her anymore, but I already know the story. There is no comparison.
“Five months into your first pregnancy, you will start to bleed profusely. A doctor, who you trust, will give you an examination. Your pregnant body will lie uncomfortably on a cold table, while a metal tray full of instruments will be covered in blood. The doctor will say words that you will never forget for the rest of your life: I’m sorry, but you lost your baby. She will have her nurse hand you a pad to catch the blood from your miscarriage, and schedule you for an abortion to clean out your child.”
“You will feel like your soul is full of white noise and you will not remember how you drove yourself home. Later that night, on your bed, you will sit across from your husband and you will make him say, “Our child is dead” out loud. You want to hear it from his lips so that he can feel the sting of your broken heart.”
“You will feel like your soul is full of white noise and you will not remember how you drove yourself home. Later that night, on your bed, you will sit across from your husband and you will make him say, “Our child is dead” out loud. You want to hear it from his lips so that he can feel the sting of your broken heart.”
You cry yourself to sleep. You can not prepare yourself for the emptiness that you will feel.
That night, you have a dream about a phoenix rising from the ashes. Fire swirls around his blue and gold wings as he lifts himself from the flames. When you wake up from the dream, you notice that you stopped bleeding. Trust your instincts. Go to another doctor and discover that your baby is still alive. Try and diminish any fantasies about meeting your first doctor in a dark parking lot with a homemade shank. It is a waste of your energy. Like most women, you will not be able to relax during your pregnancy until you see and hear your baby. But you will be especially fearful; knowing what death and sorrow possibly feel like. When they pull out your first son from your emergency c-section, his cries will be the most beautiful thing that you have ever heard. You will instantly fall in love, hard and deep”. She is crying.
It’s late and I need to travel back to my life in the future. I want to her tell many things, like not to worry about her stomach that she finds disgusting, because after two c-sections, she will wish for that little pot belly that she once hated. I also want to tell her to not be embarrassed about the hemorrhoid that she developed from years of poor eating, because during pregnancy, she will have hemorrhoids that look like a sack of hanging grapes. I opt not to tell her these things because I don’t want to completely scare her off. Instead, I hold her very close and I tell her how much I love her.
She looks into my eyes and says, “My future sounds so awful”. She looks afraid. “I’m not going to lie to you”, I say, “being a mother is the most difficult journey you will ever take, but it is also the most spiritual road that you will ever travel. Mothering is based on precious moments. Just one kiss from their little mouths can make you forget about anything. Or hearing them call you by your new name, ‘Mama”, can send you over the moon. You will fall in love over and over again because they own your heart. And no matter how tired you are or how bad they have been, you somehow look forward to the next moment to love them all over again.” She looks at peace.
As we say our farewells, I make a promise to hold on to a piece of her, of who I used to be. And I’m starting now, by taking a long overdue nap.
Stephanie Brambila was born and raised in Southern California. She relocated for ten years to San Francisco where she met her husband in a movie theater on Christmas Eve. They fell in love and eventually moved back to Southern California to make a home and two babies. She is a mother to two toddlers who make every day extremely interesting. This is her first creative endeavor since 2004. She received both her B.A. and M.F.A. from San Francisco State.
It’s late and I need to travel back to my life in the future. I want to her tell many things, like not to worry about her stomach that she finds disgusting, because after two c-sections, she will wish for that little pot belly that she once hated. I also want to tell her to not be embarrassed about the hemorrhoid that she developed from years of poor eating, because during pregnancy, she will have hemorrhoids that look like a sack of hanging grapes. I opt not to tell her these things because I don’t want to completely scare her off. Instead, I hold her very close and I tell her how much I love her.
She looks into my eyes and says, “My future sounds so awful”. She looks afraid. “I’m not going to lie to you”, I say, “being a mother is the most difficult journey you will ever take, but it is also the most spiritual road that you will ever travel. Mothering is based on precious moments. Just one kiss from their little mouths can make you forget about anything. Or hearing them call you by your new name, ‘Mama”, can send you over the moon. You will fall in love over and over again because they own your heart. And no matter how tired you are or how bad they have been, you somehow look forward to the next moment to love them all over again.” She looks at peace.
As we say our farewells, I make a promise to hold on to a piece of her, of who I used to be. And I’m starting now, by taking a long overdue nap.
Stephanie Brambila was born and raised in Southern California. She relocated for ten years to San Francisco where she met her husband in a movie theater on Christmas Eve. They fell in love and eventually moved back to Southern California to make a home and two babies. She is a mother to two toddlers who make every day extremely interesting. This is her first creative endeavor since 2004. She received both her B.A. and M.F.A. from San Francisco State.
Christine Fugate
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