A Bag of My Own

I’m running late (again).

I can’t find my car keys, my wallet or my phone charger (all necessary for leaving home).

I’ve checked everywhere—the baker’s rack, the table, the basket and every bag in our house—and now I’m hot, sticky and flustered. It’s not a winning combination for trying to make a smooth exit before the boys get all sniffly about mommy leaving them for a few hours with their (favorite) babysitter.

I smile through the frustration; internally, I’m cursing the fact that we have so many bags. The diaper bag, the camera bag, the toy bag, the Curves bag, 12 canvas grocery bags, laptop bags, a beach/pool bag; normally, I transfer my wallet, keys, phone and charger between all of these bags based on where we’re going and what we’re doing and what the boys absolutely need to be content and comfortable. It’s all an effort to avoid public meltdowns.

Admittedly, it gets a little tiring day after day, switching my personal essentials from bag to bag, hoping to find each one before my heart starts racing as the clock ticks closer to our leave time. And packing something like ChapStick? That’s nearly unheard of. I never could keep track of something so small, so unessential but at the same time so relevant and comforting.

As I search, I wonder to myself how I can make this tiring song and dance of trying to leave the house feel less like a tango—all fast-paced and with my heart beating out of my chest—and more like a samba—slower and graceful.

Maybe if I had my own bag, one to myself, without diapers or toy cars or snack trappers filled with Hearts and Os and hand wipes …

I’d given up my own bag when G. was born nearly three years ago. I thought it useless, a frivolous accessory that would weigh us down, a silly extra bag to tote around and take up space. Essentially, I traded in my own hand bag for a diaper bag … a space of my own for the shared space to house necessities of motherhood.

And then slowly, every bag I adopted thereafter became a bag filled with items for the boys, for work, for the family, for groceries for our family. I began transferring my most basic little necessities from someone’s bag to someone else’s bag. I tossed aside a few of my favorite but oh-so frivolous take-alongs. So long lip gloss, hair tie and tiny tube of hand lotion, while I added more and more stuff to more and more bags for everyone, everyone except for me.

And, of course, this hits a nerve. Because it’s not really about bags. I could simply go upstairs, rip open the tape on a few boxes and search for some old purses I used to sport on my shoulder. But what it is about? Well, it’s about the way I’ve been viewing myself … my needs, simple and complex, not being as important as boys’ (the big one and the small ones) needs. But they are.

They are important, too.

My husband sees it, my Creator sees it and even my boys see it.

So why don’t I?

Tonight, I’m resurrecting my handbag from a cardboard box, dusting it off and tucking my wallet and keys and phone and charger inside its pockets.

And tomorrow, I’ll carry my very own handbag. With some lip gloss slipped inside a pocket.

Hyacynth Worth writes about the intersection of motherhood, faith, marriage and (in)sanity at Undercover Mother