You know when you meet someone and sparks fly and your whole world is suspended for those single perfect moments when you can sigh softly into their neck after a romantic kiss or catch their eye across the room and know instantly that you are both thinking the same thoughts?
I loved those moments.
So I married my moment maker and had his children. Life hasn’t been the same since.
Now my whole world is suspended for those single perfect moments when he is home long enough to change my youngest son’s latest diaper explosion. And any sighing I’ve done lately has been because I’ve been forced to witness the latest armpit fart contest between my teens and their father. And when I catch my love’s eyes from across the room? Well, he’s generally rolling them at me.
This? This is what 14 years and 10 months of marriage looks like. This is what happens when you’ve been with the same man for TWENTY YEARS.
Oh my god, I’ve never actually typed that out before.
I’ve been with my husband since we were 16 years old. Excuse me for a second while I sit here and feel older than my 36 years.
Okay, I’m back.
I don’t know what it is lately but I’ve been extremely emotional and well, maudlin about my life. I think I’m starting to have a bit of a midlife crisis. Which seems a bit early really, at 36, but hey, it’s nice to finally be an early starter at something instead of the late bloomer I always was.
I seem completely consumed with the fact that two of my children are rapidly approaching their 18th year.
My daughter has two more years of high school left and my son is only a year behind her. I swear only yesterday I was bending over to tie their shoelaces and asking them if they had to go potty before every car ride.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like there hasn’t been a great advantage to having older children. It’s been the best time ever. I’ve never had this much fun in my life. My kids are functional little people who are well on their way to being the coolest adults I’ll have ever met. And I made them! It is like winning the lottery only instead of getting large buckets filled with cash, I’m giving them away.
However, I’m handing over the dollar bills because my children have some how convinced me I’m happy to do so. Because I adore this entire parenting gig from start to finish.
But that’s the problem. I’m having fun. I’m enjoying myself. And I don’t want this party to stop.
I’ve suddenly become the mother who tears up at the idea of her babies driving off to college. I’m afflicted with the Empty Nest disease even though my nest is currently quite crowded.
I’m anticipating their absence even as they heckle me for the television remote and argue with me over whether The Voice is better than American Idol.
My husband thinks I’ve lost my marbles.
He may be right. But for the first time in my adult life, I can actually see a reality of life without my oldest two children.
And let’s face it; once those two are gone, my youngest isn’t far behind.
And then? I’m alone. With my husband.
Which I suddenly realized isn’t quite a bad thing at all.
Think of all the time I’ll have alone with him…to make NEW babies.
Weird. I think I’m having one of those moments right now. I can totally feel my husband rolling his eyes at me and he’s not even home.