One week until my birthday.
For many people, this is a time of celebration. And normally, I'm all about celebrating ME.
Not this year.
You know how some people constantly bemoan getting older, like it's the worst thing in the world?
That was never me. I was thrilled to have a birthday. I got presents, we went out to eat, and it was a day ALL ABOUT ME.
Until this year.
I am dreading my birthday. For some reason, the number 24 really is causing me to have a bit of a panic attack. And I don't know why.
My husband says I'm always in a rush. Which is true. I coudn't wait to graduate high school; I finished college a year early; we got married six months after I graduated and were already building a house.
So, yeah, maybe I like to push my timetable a little bit. That's how I like it. I like to be in control.
I've also never understood the desperate yearning women say they have wanting a baby. I've always wanted kids, but I figured it would happen sooner or later.
Until I realized I would be 24. In my grand plan, I wanted to have a child by the time I was 24. Clearly, that's not going to happen. I'm ready; my husband would prefer to wait a little bit.
I think I've just always done things on my own schedule, so this frustrates me. I don't want to wait; I'm ready NOW. Plus, who knows how long it would actually take to get pregnant?
The weirdest part of this whole situation is that I don't exactly know when this feeling came over me. It's like all of sudden, I wanted to be a mom. It's difficult for me to contain that emotion with the logical (and much more prevalent) side of my brain.
And I am emotional about it. I feel like everywhere I look, there are babies. Or pregnant women. Or commercials advertising pregnancy tests.
It's like I can't escape it. Has anyone else noticed the influx of baby-related media, or is it just me? I mean, has it always been this way, and I'm just now noticing?
Maybe I'm going crazy. Who knows? I even used the phrase, "I'm getting older, and my ovaries are going to dry up." Really? Who says that?
Now, I realize that at (almost) 24, I am not exactly "past my prime." Far from it, hopefully. It's just a mental thing with me. My husband doesn't understand; I don't even understand. But the closer I get to 24, the stronger the panic becomes.
Which is really ridiculous.
I realize this is pretty personal, but, hey, this is my blog. I'll write what I want. Maybe some of you can sympathize with me. Maybe some of you think I'm a lunatic.
You're probably right.