I'm taking it down about fourteen notches today. I haven't been particularly serious on here in... oh, let's see... a good year...
But, today, I'm doing it. Even though you stinkin' readers don't like it, don't respond to it, and, honestly, don't read it. However, when I started this blog, I started it as a forum for me to reflect, document, and editorialize. For me. To write it out and see where I was, to take inventory of me.
So, I'm going through some "things" in my life. Aren't we all? And they have me in a quiet place. I'm not going to bring them all out here, but one hit me in a new and real way on Tuesday when I took Bonus to a classmate's birthday party. And I need to talk about it a little.
Nearly a month ago, I took Bonus up to the elementary school where RNR attends. It was for Kindergarten registration, and I wasn't going to miss that. I have had a preschooler wrapped around my legs for the last twelve years. It's time for me to get my legs back! I keep saying that I'm so ready for this part of my life to come to an end. And a large part of me is.
But I discovered on Tuesday that there is a part of me that is not ready to let go of this stage in my life.
You see, I've got three smart, beautiful, talented kids, but I wanted four.
And I can't have four because:
1). I'm forty, and really, I don't have the energy to do the pregnancy and newborn and preschool thing all over again. I'll already be 54 when Bonus graduates high school.
2). My doctors would kill me (if I didn't just go ahead and die on my own on them this time).
3). Babies are freaking expensive, and I am going to have to buy a bassoon in a few years (google a fox bassoon; you might pass out. a "nice" instrument can be $20,000).
4). I don't have a bedroom for another child, and I don't really want to move to another house.
5). Oh yeah, and there was the little snip-snip... So, unless it really is a miracle, it isn't going to happen.
So, I'm not going to have four. I'm not going to have anymore of my own babies. Bonus is my last preschooler, and he only has two more days of preschool.
I stood at this birthday party for a precious little girl in his preschool class and watched these little people who have attended preschool together for the last couple of years. I watched my little person running around not needing my help.
As I spoke to another mom I know, it all hit me, and I actually started tearing up in Chuck E. Cheese. And she and I talked about it for a moment. She was kind and gracious and let me talk. And then, she somehow knew that I needed to make sure we changed the topic because I was about to lose it and have a big ugly cry right in the middle of the party room.
In just a few short months, I'm not going to have my little buddy with me at the Krogert begging me for candy bars, chips, fruit snacks, or even something healthy. "Mama, can I have some of this yogurt. Yogurt's healthy for me. Right, Mama?"
I won't have a little person asking if we could listen to Justin Bieber "Eeny Meeny" one more time as we drive around town doing errands.
I won't be a mother of a preschooler.
And I'm not really sure I know what that looks like.
I'm not altogether sure I know what I look like without a little person wrapped around my legs.