I have always sensed the ticking of time. Since I was a little girl, I was acutely aware of an end in sight. I distinctly remember dreading my 10th birthday. I didn't want to be an age with double digits. I didn't want to grow up.
I still don't want to grow up. Yesterday was my birthday. 36.
36 is scary. Life is real. No denying that you're a responsible grownup--or at least you're supposed to be. Four more years until 40 and that's just frightening.
I think this fear of getting older must be genetic somehow. For as long as I can remember, my dad has denied his age. That's kind of hard to do when you have a twin sister, but he tried anyway. He hates getting older and he almost wants to forget his birthdays. In January he turns 70. That's a big one. A milestone.
I just don't want all the stuff that comes with getting older. I don't care about wrinkles or extra pounds or Menopause. That stuff doesn't matter to me.
I just hate watching the time pass. I want more of it. I want my kids to stay little. I want my parents to be able to get down on the floor and play with their grandkids. I want them around forever. I want Scott and I to run races and stay up past midnight drinking wine and talking by the campfire. I want this beautiful life as I know it to freeze or at least slow down.
Of course it all can't last forever. But, sometimes I wonder why can't it?