In the Bag

A fashionista, I am not. I observe the changing trends in fashion from the sidelines, with the mild interest of a California sea lion. I am much more comfortable as the by-stander. I casually watch as the waist bands drift from the waist to the hips to the waist again.

But accessories are a different story, especially when it comes to handbags. Not that I have any special interest in them though. My involvement with bags is driven purely by necessity.

I still remember my first wallet. It was a big canvas and velcro square full of junior high photos of friends and a few left over allowance dollars. It didn't take long before I realized I couldn't fit the wallet in my back pocket without an obvious and embarrassing bump on my rump.  After I got my driver's license, finding the perfect purse became a serious goal.

I began with a big Esprit tote, so large I could almost fit my 80's hair plus the accessories, in it. Another favorite was the white, fake leather purse that looked like a barrel on a string.

During my gypsy years as a single, young adult, I floated between a backpack, fanny pack, passport holder under my shirt and a messenger bag. When I got married and stopped traveling, my bag changed again. With all the changes in my handbag of choice over my young years, nothing compared to the introduction of the diaper bag. And just like that, this nursery on wheels became my one and only, all-inclusive accessory.

Instead of pictures of friends, my driver's license and lipstick, I was carrying every item necessary to keep a small human alive for an extended period of time. This bag had enough pockets and compartments for bottles and formula, baby food, bibs, diapers, wipes, rash ointment, burp rags, changes of clothes, snacks for the toddler, pacifier, and extra blankets. If the zombie apocalypse happened, all I would need was a place to hide. Everything else for survival was in my diaper bag.

This phase of life lasted many years. Even when I didn't have a babe in arms- during those reprieve years between birthing children- the bag was still full of diapers for the toddler, snacks and small toys.

When we finished with diapers and crossed that golden potty-training bridge, the bag shrank a little but still developed it own unique packing list. It was full of half-opened snacks, half-empty packs of gum, lip gloss and fast food toys. As my girls grew, so did my supply of hair elastics and bobby pins for ballet class. With my boys, I introduced a healthy supply of band-aids and grew a small collection of hot wheels cars and Legos. My bag quickly became the deposit box for wrappers, tickets, rocks from hikes and anything else the kids didn't want at the moment but may need in the future.

Most recently, the contents of my purse told a new story. Standing at the counter at the DMV with my 15-year-old daughter, I pulled a special envelop from my handbag. Inside was my daughter's birth certificate, social security card and proof of residence. On a few pieces of paper was all the evidence needed to prove that she exists. Proof of the bottles, diapers, cheerios and hair elastics that filled my bag throughout her life.

When the clerk handed over her driver's permit, she smiled like the Cheshire cat, grinning with a little bit mischief and a great deal of joy. And in a flash, my little girl began to disappear just a little bit, ready to start her journey to discover her own path in life. I clutched my bag to my chest and admired her through foggy eyes.

Then she asked me to put the license in my purse, because she doesn't have her own - yet.