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I got to thinking about things. Twenty years ago today was my first date with my oldest daughter's father. Twenty years. Where do twenty years go? It's been nearly eight years since I met my husband, and if it weren't for the fact that we have a five-year-old and a three-year-old, I'd swear it was just a month or two ago.
I'm entering (or have entered) perimenopause. Of that I am convinced. I'm seeing my doctor next week, so we'll see what he says. There's a certain amount of ambivalence about that. I don't want to have anymore children necessarily, but the finalty of nature telling me I won't be able to is a little daunting.
And my first baby is graduating high school in twelve days. She's leaving for California for a vacation with her dad immediately after, then she's spending June in Minnesota. I won't even get to be with her on her eighteenth birthday.
She's moving back to Minnesota in August. This all just suddenly hit me. It seemed fuzzy and far-off before, but now it's nearly here. I'll be the parent of an adult child who does not live with me. How strange it feels.
It's raining too.
Maybe these are all reasons for my discontent this afternoon.
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