I’m old. I mean, not really. But….the chance of me living to 100 is really slim. I’m not sure why, but that thought keeps running through my head. “I’m a quarter of a century old, and the likelihood that I will live to a full century is very small.”
You know how people always say that when you get older, time will seem to just fly on by? Well, time sure does fly. Wasn’t it just Christmas? How is the year halfway through? How am I 25? Didn’t I JUST graduate from high school? No? Thank goodness. I am so glad to be an adult…And college? DUDE. I graduated from college THREE years ago. I feel like it just ended. (I can hear those readers that are a little older than me trying to slap me through their monitors. Just humor me.)
I keep having this mental tennis game about kids. We thought about trying for kids this summer. The summer came and we found that we would rather wait for fall. Now we think we might not even try this year. If it happens, that’s cool and definitely God’s timing. But we aren’t trying. At all. In my head, that sounds great. Then it sounds scary. Like this:
If I get pregnant, there’s all the obvious awesomeness that comes with it. You don’t have to convince me of the pros, because I look forward to being a stay-at-home mom someday. But let me just freak for a second. It also means that everything changes. Everything. No sleeping in. Paying babysitters. All the trips we dream of, on hold. Chilling out in the evening doing whatever we want is over for a while. We want our kids relatively close in age, so once we start, we have to keep going. Think of all the diapers. Do you know how much money diapers cost? I have to look at preschools and elementary schools and pediatricians. And that’s if everything goes smoothly.
And OH MY GOSH I would be a MOM.
OH MY GOSH.
Okay. So there’s the occasional freakout over that (and I do freak out about it about once a month, ha).
Then there’s this side. I know a lot of people who found out that they couldn’t just come off the pill (or ring or IUD or whatever) and get pregnant. Years. Years of trying. Years of not knowing. Years of doctor visits and shots and “what can we do?” And then wondering if when they finally do get pregnant…will it be that hard always? How many kids can they really have comes up, and how much money is sunk into figuring it out? How many years did that friend of mine think she would be a mommy before she really got to be one and hold that sweet little baby? And I can’t help but wonder…what if that’s us? What if we keep putting it off and then..that’s us? And we can’t have that baby. And all these sweet little names I already have picked out might never get used because by the time we get pregnant once or even twice, I’m too old to easily get pregnant again. And it changes everything.
And OH MY GOSH I would NOT be a mom when I want to be one.
Oh my gosh….
What is with that? Am I alone? (I probably am, it’s okay.) I just…have this endless tennis match of pros and cons for everything I do as I get older.
It’s not just kids. It’s wanting to go skydiving. HAVE to do that before kids. Right?
And how much harder I have to workout now but that I still don’t look like the 17-year-old cheerleader’s body I remember.
And how I want to get my savings up. But then after that how I want to go on trips. And how I want the house to look.
And wanting to actually be good at photography and photoshop and wondering how long it will take before I’m where I want to be. And wondering if I’ll have time to get there before life changes with kids or with trips or with whatever’s next.
And it’s wondering, as I walk through (and, okay, shop for the occasional cheap shirt) the junior’s section of Macy’s, how I ever thought it was cool and realizing I sound in my head just like my mom sounded out loud when I was younger.
And speaking about being younger, when did I get old enough that I started to think like “when I was younger” anyway?
And thinking how weird it is that 20 years ago, I was 5, but twenty years from now, it would not be considered weird if I had a 20-year-old son or daughter. In fact, most people assume the little baby I nanny is mine.
And people have quit asking me if I’m in high school. Or college. I like to assume it’s because I have a wedding ring and run errands with a baby, but I kinda know I just look older now.
I thought growing up was tough. It’s scary when you realize you can be a grown up and still be confused about your future.
It’s weird though. How many times did I wish I was just grown up, done with homework, and married to Tom already? And now I am. That was one thing I was always sure I wanted. No regrets there.
And then there are nights that I just kick back on the couch with Tom, watch one of our favorite shows, hang out, and don’t even think about any of this stuff. At times like that, it seems silly to ever worry about it. My ‘don’t worry, be happy’ attitude, the optimism that Tom told me “gives (him) a reason to get out of bed in the morning” the other night, that’s the real me. “It’ll happen when it’s supposed to. Just enjoy your life as it is until it changes. Then enjoy it for what it has become.” That’s the normal me.
That’s the me that was happy on a birthday with a couple of dinosaurs and a chocolate popsicle. Granted, it was my brother’s birthday, and I was three.
So, anyway, you’ll have to excuse the chicken little that wrote this post. That’s the “I just concluded a year of my life and am not enjoying this moment of panic-stricken self-reflection when thinking of what is to come” version of me.
Tomorrow is a post about my yard. The Bobby McFerrin version of me will be back. If you only made it half way through this post (or less) before getting weirded out and removing me from your rss, I get it, and goodbye forever.
Otherwise, make sure you come back tomorrow. You’ve gotta see how much my yard has changed. And I have 8 tomatoes that are getting big, and I’m torn between seeing how big they get and making fried green tomatoes. I also have a problem with a plant and need gardening advice.
This is the most random post ever.