My Kids Are Two Generations Younger Than Me


I get more done in three days than most people do by 8 am. 

Our new, decidedly unproductive pace can be directly attributed to Bam Bam, who at almost two-years-old now throws a fit and demands to walk should I dare try to carry her bad self when we're out and about.  I'm pretty excited about her newfound independence and enjoy our enviable, relaxed pace.  It's so great to have this special time together.  Our strolls make it feel as though time is standing still.  So now I’m 80 and we’re almost halfway to the car.  

I’m not really 80. 

However, this is the year my sister 17 months my senior will turn 40, my younger brother and his wife will welcome their seventh child, and I will celebrate my 20 year high school reunion.  Drunk.  It's also the year I downloaded “It's a Small World” on my iPod, but that's neither here nor there. 

Having had my kids at the advanced maternal ages of 35 and 36 respectively, I realize I am an “older mom.”  I haven't taken the time to do the math yet, but my current plans involve going straight from Bam Bam's high school graduation to the nursing home.  And not that nursery home with the cat who comes to visit you right before you die.  I prefer a little more dignity than that.  Because remember everybody, there is just one moon and one golden sun, and a smile means friendship to everyone...


 
 

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