My 24th year of life is coming up.
And despite everything that tells me that this should be a time of rejoicing since I still haven't had to face the year where I'm a quarter of a century old,
I am still having all kinds of anxieties over this.
You see... all the days of my pre-pubescent bliss
were spent dreaming about THE time of my life, which consisted of being 21 with a sexy boyfriend and big boobs (it's impossible that I was the only young girl who thought about this!), and driving around in my convertible (my favorite "car" as a child... I blame Barbie.) doing things that 21-year-olds do. I was convinced that 21 would be the crowning moment of my human existence and was unsure of anything else past that, except for the fact that I was going to be married and have a kid of my own by 23.
Well 23 has come and gone, and still... no kid.
(Though 21 was pretty crowning,
as it was the year that I sealed the deal
with the man of my dreams.)
And I want to be a mom, don't get me wrong.
But then I think about how I still have so many things to do, like more learning, and more growing and more spontaneous trips to who knows where and... (you get the picture)...
and then that logical voice of mine steps in, practically scolding me about the fact that, "You're almost 24, which means you would be almost 25 by the time you became a mother, if you conceived the child, like, yesterday, and since that ain't the case, you'd better get a move on it!" and then I think about how many insecurities and uncertainties I have about being a parent and want to run and hide from the idea and then I remember how much I love my nephew who I've only known for 6 days and try to imagine how much love I'll feel for a baby who knows me as "Mom" and then remember that I am only 23 and don't need to rush into anything, but then remember that I might not get pregnant and might be nearing 30 by the time I finally know my husband as the father of my child and as you can see...
it's all just one vicious cycle.
And all this, because my 24th year of life is just around the bend.
Getting old bites, doesn't it?
On a happier note, being an aunt brings me non-explainable joy.
Especially when I receive pictures like this
I love that little Henry.