Thursday, June 24, 2010


I've recently realized that my mother is twice my age. This little mathematical milestone is crossed by most other people when they are in their 20s or 30s, but not me. I am 41. Yes, my mother is 82. And 41 years was her age when she gave birth to me.

I can't imagine having another child at this age (even if I still had a uterus, which I don't - hooray). My kids are both in their teens now. I see the light at the end of the tunnel. I love them like crazy, and I like them as people much better than I liked them as little dependent children. I do not understand mothers who are sad for their babies to grow up. Me? It's been pure joy with each step: when they could wipe their own butts and fix their own lunch and go do stuff on their own. I don't have to wait on them hand and foot anymore, thank goodness! I will be even more thrilled when they have their own jobs and can get their own places and pay their own bills!

Maybe it's just another one of those things that make me different from a lot of females. And I've always been proud to be different, that is certain. My career (feels like my life) has been sidetracked for the last 16 years - I'm chomping at the bit to get back in the game.

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