Once upon a time I had a 3 year old, a two year old, and a new born. There was nothing else I could think about. It was a time filled with present mindedness because some sort of emergency was always happening; or some basic human need was always being met (by me). Lacking rest and recuperation, I often felt myself dragging through the days and nights, blurring calendar edges as if there were no end to the monotonous routine of a "newish" mom. It was in these times when I used all of my free moments to fantasize about the future. A future filled with eight and nine year olds...
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about death. Not in an “I want to die” kind of way, but moreover in an “I’m going to die” kind of way. Coming up on 35 means that if I live to 70, I’m half way through the race and I need to begin thinking about the sprint toward the finish. What legacy am I leaving behind? What will my children inherit? Will my life insurance policy kick in… the one that I put in the mail right before stepping on a plane and promising my husband that I’ll be back to ensure I make at least a few payments… (I did that by the way, I filled out a life insurance policy and then got on a plane, confidently like a boss).
I've had 3 in diapers. Let's just say, I know how to help make it all easier...