Sunday, September 4, 2011

40.

I'll be 40 on Tuesday. I've been thinking a lot about 40, as might be expected. And I've been thinking about  babies, specifically a new one of my own. Oh, babies (new, little, soft ones) are so sweet! And being pregnant - mmmmm. I just loved it, feeling this creature moving inside me of its own accord; a completely raw experience of the mystery of life. Oh, and the nursing. I love nursing a tiny baby, the ability to offer sustenance and comfort, to be able to keep alive another human with only my own body. Okay okay, enough of that. I'm aware that this picture in my head conveniently forgets the other side effects of pregnancy (which I will let go unnamed here), plus mastitis, engorgement, irritation that I alone am in possession of the only source of complete comfort, and the accompanying feeling of strangulation and tetheredness. I've been reading over some old posts. They do a lot to help with this visual.

Besides, lately I've been remembering a time when, lying in bed at night with Mitch, we mused that one day we would be able to sleep in. The kids would get up and play or turn on the tv or whatever, and they wouldn't need a pair of eyes on them to make sure they didn't accidentally kill themselves. It was sort of a shock for me to discover that that day has arrived. Actually, it snuck in, slithered up quietly, and now we're here, no idea when that happened. Needless to say, having another would return the train to the beginning of the track.

This is the way it occurs to me now: my 20s were rather a train wreck, my 30s were recovery, and my 40s are all mine. When I thought of it this way, I realized that I am indeed done having little babies.

I am 40.

AND! If that weren't enough evidence, my son wore his last diaper on the day of my (surprise) birthday party. I smell a little symbolism here. We've had someone in diapers, you know, since September of 2006; a good chunk of that time I had two someones in diapers.) I told him at the grocery store as I put the diapers in the cart, "Clark, these are the last diapers we will buy. After these are gone, there are no more diapers; only big boy underwear." He was down with that. Told his dad that night about the diapers and what happens after. The last diaper just happened to fall on the day of my party. And Clark very willingly sat on the potty and then put on his (fabulous exciting Diego) underpants. That was yesterday. We've only had a few accidents and many successes.

I can take the changing table out of his room. We're done with diapers.

Wow.

I put the cloth ones on Ebay this week, most auctions to end tomorrow.

Done with diapers! And I'm 40. 

2 comments:

andrea said...

As a woman entering my third year of the 40's.... I will say they are Brilliant.

You will rock them. I have more energy and am more creative, spend more time with friends and feel more peaceful, even in the madness.

andrea said...

Oh, by the way HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!