The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008


The Race

I crave youth. The freedom, abandon and wanton selfishness.

I was reckless once. Fearless really. I was the girl that would do or say anything. I never backed down from a dare. Gutsy and ballsy were the adjectives used when I strode though the door.

I miss those days. The time before I was Mom, before I was Wife, before I was Doctor. I still harbor the inner wildcat only now she is chained by an overstuffed diaper bag, a job, and twenty pounds of muffin top.

As soon as I hit the Golden Gate Bridge on my way home from work I dream about the former me. I am not sure if it is brought on by the strength of the wind, the power of the Pacific, or just the joy that the day is over.

There is something about that short stretch of road that brings my youth front and center into my consciousness. The radio is turned up and the speakers are vibrating with bass power, the windows are rolled down, my hair whipping in the wind, and I am singing an eighties song at the top of my lungs for all to hear.

Recently, I was caught in this reverie, singing boldly to myself when two young men, barely twenty pulled up beside me in a Lotus and gave me the look.

A look I had perfected so well back in the day. Daring, abandon, and desire all rolled into one. The intent was clear. Since physical contact was out of the question a race would suffice.

I thought of my car. Fine German engineering and plenty of horsepower, but like myself she had also seen better days. Did both of us still have the speed and the moxie?

I winked and floored the gas pedal. It was exhilarating. We sped across the bridge racing at a furious pace, but youth and the Lotus clearly had the advantage. And so I ceded pulling back, letting them fly with all their glory into the first tunnel on the Mommy side of the bridge.

Had I lost my moxie? My guts? My balls? I didn’t even have the diaper bag with me!

As I exited the tunnel at a respectable fifty five miles per hour, I waved at the two boys desperately trying to explain their speed to the uninterested highway patrol man.

A smile crept across my face. I was, and still am, ballsy but never stupid. There is always a cop on the other side of the bridge.

And then one of the chains loosened, just a bit.

By Jennifer Gunter


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I loved this story! I remember rapelling off of the freeway bridges with my friends in highschool late at night. Now I hope my sons never do that.
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