I know I've touched on my alter egos and their struggles. I've also given you my preliminary take on aging intervention in it's many forms. You have also heard a bit about how my darling progeny work hard every day to make sure I stay humble. Today, for the official record, Girl Scout seems to have planted her rather stout bum firmly on the trunk of poor little Barbie Girl and that seems to be keeping her breathless enough that she can't verbalize her criticisms or get too much into my head. I'm grateful for the assist, because Life keeps reminding me that I am not getting any younger.
I am in the process of planning Drama's seventh birthday party. This is a project I love each year and I have to say I seem to be getting better at it with each effort (though the joint 4th birthday party with the Chocolate Fondue and Pinata in the garden overlooking Lake Geneva may be tough to top...Ever). It occurs to me, though, that while I desperately wanted children....I don't think I thought a lot beyond infancy. I really thought I was going to bring home a baby who would stay in those tiny little footie pajamas and Size 1 diapers forever. Each major milestone she has reached has been kind of a shock for me. This past year has been particularly bittersweet. It is the first year of her life that I can honestly remember (vividly!!) what it was like to be her age. I remember the smell of my first grade classroom, the names of all of my classmates in Mrs. Streevey's joint 1st-2nd grade class, and what it felt like to be made fun of because I threw up on Mr. Costello's sneakers in gym class. The process of her Losing Teeth has made me strangely nostalgic. I can honestly close my eyes and remember what it felt like to poke my tongue out from between the sharp baby teeth...and exactly the sensation of scraping my tongue across the brand-new ridges of the adult tooth when it came bursting through. Mostly, though, I remember my 7th birthday party. And I CANNOT believe that I have a child that is turning Seven. Seven is no longer a little girl. Thankfully, Drama still likes lots of "babyish" things. She cops to them and claims that she doesn't care if they are cool. I realize that this will change. Probably soon. And I'm not ready for her to tell me that she doesn't like Pink anymore, or that Princesses are lame. I feel this strong sense that the days are speeding up faster and faster and there is nothing I can do about it. I dont' mean that I'm not looking forward to watching her grow up. I SO am. She fascinates me with her heartbreaking mix of sensitivity and creativity. But I will miss who she is today, as much as I miss who she was at one and two and on and on.
Add to that emotional crisis that fact that it's getting Warm in Hong Kong. No, warm weather doesn't make me weepy. But, when it gets too hot for long sleeves and sweaters, its' time to break out the summer clothes. Last week I did the big changeover. The fall and winter items go into storage and the spring and summer things come out. Easy Enough (particularly with the aid of my Helper...who was there with a labelmaker...not even kind of making fun of my anal retentiveness!). This year, I had to pull out two different boxes for Trouble, because she'll need some of the Size 3 things from last year for now and the beginning of summer...but she will likely also need most of the Size 4 things, because it won't get cold here again until November or December. Blah Blah Blah. So, in the process of bringing out all of these boxes, Trouble got interested. In fact, she put on a Fashion Show, because although they were all Drama's clothes first, it's all New to Her. She was in the playroom pulling out the size 4 treasures while I was going through the 3s and pulling out the winter items to determine what was worth boxing up for next year and making a giant pile of things to give away (Oh how I love giving away old treasures!!). In marches my little blonde diva: twirling and posing in a sweet pink dress with butterfly appliques and a little flouncy skirt. And my heart stopped. It was The Dress that Drama was wearing the day she came to the hospital to meet her baby sister. How did that happen???I've been able to manage the "boo-hoo" factor of Trouble getting older for the most part because I've been so excited for her to grow out of the baby phases. No more baby food? Awesome! Diapers Gone? Incredible! Big girl bed? Great-I don't have to get up at 5am to get her out of the crib to go potty (anytime she wants to start sleeping like a regular person would be Just Super, but that's clearly a dream). But in that moment, I was struck by the fact that time is just FLYING by. My baby is So not a baby. In fact, she is a little Person. She is as old (older, actually!!) than Drama was when she was born. And to me, way back then, Drama was already quite mature and I expected her to behave a certain way. Trouble still gets away with murder, and we all baby her...something we admit but can't seem to stop doing. Knowing she is my last baby is fine with me...but I don't want to blink and have it be time for HER seventh birthday party. Because at this rate...it feels like that is going to happen!
Why, I wonder, does seeing my kids get older make me feel such a bizarre mix of excitement and anxiety? It's not that I don't love each phase that they are in. I have a friend who told me once that she never yearns for the baby days at all, and loves each new grown-up phase better than the last. GVL, you know I'm talking about you. I wish I felt that way completely. I do, of course, feel pride and excitement for my kids as they grow and achieve and learn. I get embarrassingly sentimental at conferences and school performances when teachers say nice things about my kids. The Husband told me I have to stop crying at conferences when the teacher is complementary. I can't help it! I'm SO proud!! Seriously, I want them to grow up to be wonderful adult people, but I also want to put a concrete block on their heads and keep them little forever. I also realize that when I had babies, I thought grade-school-aged children were SO OLD. Like, somehow, I was obviously too young to have one of them. I remember even looking at toddlers with a kind of pity. Yet, here I am...with a gap-toothed big girl who can no longer fit into clothes from the little girl department and my baby is about to start big-kid school. I'm not a "young mom" anymore.
Which brings me to the third piece of the "Face It, Lady, You're Middle-Aged" puzzle. I wasn't technically EVER a young mom. I was just shy of thirty when I had my first child. For our generation, that's not old...but it's also not young. This week a friend of mine from high school posted on her Facebook page that she is going to be a Grandma. Um. What?? If she's old enough to be a Grandma then so am I? I am familiar with the concept of a Hot Granny. We've got a Hot Granny in our family...one that looks better than I do in a bikini. No lie. But, I'm still working out if I am eligible for MILF status...how on earth can I contemplate being a GILF?? I'm just grateful that my girls are (at least) 10 years away from putting me in that position (at 20 years at the earliest that I'm willing to even ponder). But somehow...this trifecta: my big girl turning seven, my baby not even kind of being a baby, and realizing that I am of an age that I could be somebody's grandma....has got me a little bit spun up today.
My dad likes to say that getting older is better than the alternative. And he's surely right. But I want to figure out how to actually accept it without kicking and screaming. Getting older is okay. Obviously we can't stay young forever. I've always said I'm going to grow old gracefully because I'm just going to pretend it isn't happening. I didn't factor in the fact that things like my kids and/or Facebook would crumble that fantasy. I think for the moment I'm just going to try to be thankful that my biggest source of angst is lost teeth and birthday parties. And perhaps I should make an extra concerted effort to enjoy my babies exactly as they are today. Every Day. Even when I want to sell them to the Gypsies.
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