I missed her yesterday.
It was weird. Every now and then I get a little pang of "what if?" and every month when Aunt Flo comes to town I generally spend at least five minutes winching to myself and thinking, "I wish I was pregnant so I didn't have to deal with these wretched cramps!" along with various other things that don't make much sense. Beyond that, life is life and it goes on.
A couple of weeks ago my children started 8th grade and I was totally fine. Until I wasn't.
I cried. I mean, I really, really cried. I cried so hard that my face actually hurt. I know some people think it's ridiculous and that growing up is a fact of life and blah, blah, blah, whatever. I don't remember my mom crying as I aged. Maybe she just didn't cry in front of me, because I don't want the Boy and Girl to know I cry over their growing up either.
But I cried. I am not ready for them to be thirteen and a half. I'm not ready for them to be in the 8th grade. I'm not ready for a son who is concerned about his hair and a daughter who wears size 1 Juniors jeans and looks like a freaking supermodel in them. I'm not ready for everything to be over in a few years.
I guess it's messed up that I feel that way, but honestly I have no point of reference. My kids are the same age and will forever be. I don't have one that marched off bravely to kindergarten or middle school while the other stayed behind. I don't know how what to expect (ever, honestly with the pair I have). All I know is fear. I don't want to not have what we have now. What we've always had.
We went to the Christmas store yesterday. Every year we get four new ornaments. One for each child, one for Jason and I, and one for our whole family. They write our names on them, all pretty, and they make me happy every single year when I see them on my tree.
The only ornaments I liked this year were for families of five. Jason tried to make a joke about it ("One of them could have Ginger's name") and I smiled. But it felt...well, crappy. It felt really crappy. Later, we sat together on the porch swing talking and I said, "Isn't it so strange? If things had been different we would have our little baby here with us now". She would be brand new and there would have been five, not four. The ornament this year would have been different.
Everything would have been, though. Well, not everything. My children would still be in eighth grade and growing at an alarming rate. But I probably wouldn't have even applied for my new job, and I certainly wouldn't get to wear shorts with a big hole in the butt (because I'm sexy) while I work sometimes. I'm certain no one at my old employer would approve. I wouldn't have been able to put so much money in the bank (thank you Jesus) and I wouldn't be thinking about a lot of other things that have crept into my mind lately. Important things.
So you weigh it, I guess. It's not a trade, not ever a trade, but it's something.
I believe that there is a master plan for my life and I believe I only have a limited amount of control over said plan. I can try, and oh I do. I can plan and I can work and I can dream.
Sometimes I dream "what ifs". Sometimes I dream that the years are turned back and I have just a little more time. And sometimes, I'm just plain sad. Sad that the days are so long and the years are so very short.
I think all of those are okay.
I hope so.