Tomorrow. The sun will come out.
I will turn 35.
Do you know what that means?
It means that IF I ever want another child, I will have to have a "high risk pregnancy."
Now I am 90% certain that I don't want another child. Not because of the high risk pregnancy label, but because the reason that most frequently crosses my mind for wanting one -- is so I can name another one. Kind of a dumb reason to bring another child into the world. The next most frequent -- all my friends are doing it. Also a pretty dumb reason to do anything. The reason that most frequently crosses my mind for not wanting one -- I have never been happier. Just ... why mess with it, you know?
So, I've never been happier. I don't want another child right now. Why the eff do I care that I'm turning 35 and passing into some arbitrary risk group? Because. That's right - because. Because I hate being told what I should or shouldn't do. Sure, no one says you can't have a baby after 35 and certainly more & more women do. But it's that "You can, buuuuut ..." - it's almost worse than just a black or white.
Then there's the "what if's" --- We don't want another child now. But what if someday we decide we do want another baby? Like when D's 4 or even 5. Will I feel too old then? Will I be too old then?
I used to say I had no regrets. If you go back and fix one thing in your past, how do you know what else it would change? For example, if I went back and met my husband sooner, and started a family sooner, sure I'd have more time for a 2nd child, BUT would I have gotten the amazing little girl I have now?
Now? I say - screw that, I want to pick & choose. I want to have exactly the life I have now, except be 3 years younger. (I feel like 5 or more years would be asking too much. Doesn't 3 sound reasonable?)
I know this will pass. I have always loved celebrating my birthdays. Those divisible by 5 in particular. There are 3 full days of festivities planned. Outside the concrete gifts and the external celebrations, there's the best gift I've given myself lately - acceptance. I accept who I am; I actually like myself a lot. I accept turning 35, but I don't have to like it -- at least not tonight.
Linear time, you are a cruel master.