I have found myself thinking a lot about death. In my pre-medication days, this wasn't unusual. I worried about death almost constantly, but I haven't done this in a long, long time so it bears considering. Why am I thinking about it now?
Even though I don't care one whit about the "new year," since it is just a random arbitrarily selected day in which the earth continues rotating in its infinite spin around the sun, 2015 will mark a considerable change in my life, a death of sorts.
It will mark the end of my life as a stay-at-home mom of young children.
In August, all three of the kids will be in school full-time.
I have been noticing younger moms with toddlers and babies in tow and thinking back to my own days in their shoes. And I miss it, even though I don't really miss it. I don't want to go back; I don't want to do it again, but I have forgotten so much about it already. I miss seeing my children's faces at that age. I miss snuggling them. I miss the feel of their soft skin.
There is nowhere to go but onward. Time continues. My children are growing up, and I am aging along with them. There is much good to be had in this time. New experiences that can't be done with babies and toddlers. There will be time for me to reconnect with adult people in my life who have, more or less, been ignored the past eleven years. D and I may even do some lunch dates, a rare opportunity to chat without someone interrupting our conversation.
But it is an end, a death, a loss that I am, in my own non-procrastinating way, anticipating and attempting to wrap my head and heart around.
Even though I don't care one whit about the "new year," since it is just a random arbitrarily selected day in which the earth continues rotating in its infinite spin around the sun, 2015 will mark a considerable change in my life, a death of sorts.
It will mark the end of my life as a stay-at-home mom of young children.
In August, all three of the kids will be in school full-time.
I have been noticing younger moms with toddlers and babies in tow and thinking back to my own days in their shoes. And I miss it, even though I don't really miss it. I don't want to go back; I don't want to do it again, but I have forgotten so much about it already. I miss seeing my children's faces at that age. I miss snuggling them. I miss the feel of their soft skin.
There is nowhere to go but onward. Time continues. My children are growing up, and I am aging along with them. There is much good to be had in this time. New experiences that can't be done with babies and toddlers. There will be time for me to reconnect with adult people in my life who have, more or less, been ignored the past eleven years. D and I may even do some lunch dates, a rare opportunity to chat without someone interrupting our conversation.
But it is an end, a death, a loss that I am, in my own non-procrastinating way, anticipating and attempting to wrap my head and heart around.
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