I am about to reach a certain age.
I’m OK with the number itself, but am feeling not OK with some of the things that come with the number.
The number is really just a number to me. No biggie. I still feel good. I still feel young. I ain’t scared of the number.
But, yesterday I had a strange experience thanks to one of those things I hate about the number.
I had to have an ultrasound (no worries … everything’s great!) … the same type of ultrasound you have when there’s a baby in your belly. I had mixed emotions. At that very moment that the technician was moving the instrument around my belly area, I got nostalgic. I remembered the moments I saw my precious little babies there. The reality that there would never be another baby in there definitely made me sad. That’s it. Not that I ever thought Beau and I would have another one, but it just wasn’t so real to me until that moment.
When you’re a mother in your early thirties tied down with two or more kids, you think you’re definitely finished. That you would never be able to handle anymore kids. That you’re happy with what you have.
And, really I am. But, there is still that sadness. (Because, really I could have handled and slightly wanted one more. Shhh … don’t tell Beau.)
I’ll be OK. I’m just getting accustomed to these small adjustments that come along with that number I previously mentioned.
And, reflecting on this.
And this.