Thanks to the basic maths skills that I left school with (which were the ONLY maths skills I left school with), I've been doing a little mildly depressing pondering on various childhood milestones and how they related to the age my parents were at the time, and where I, personally, will be when Gabe starts to reach them.
Obviously, this is an exercise in pointless masochism, but what the hell. That's what thinking about getting older is all about, right?
In my mind's eye, my parents have always been about 50. If I think back upon my youth, when I picture my parents, I picture them pretty much exactly as they look right now--maybe a little less gray and that sort of thing, but pretty much the same. But the truth is, they had me when they were around 24 years old, so, by the time they were my age now, I was 12 years old and starting to discover the real appeal of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition.
By the time they reached 40--an age that is CLEARLY within view for me now--I was a junior in high school and had already been suspended for trying to sneak bourbon onto a pep bus. Which means that they were 41 when I graduated from high school, something I can't fully wrap my head around. And, get this, they were only 46 when I got married (fortunately, Libby and I started dating when I was 19, so I have two more years before I have to start belaboring the fact that we've been together for as many years as we were ALIVE before we started dating)!
It's weird, really. All of these dates and ages didn't start resonating in my head until I started having my own kids. Why is that? Was it just something that I never thought about or did it take the proper context for the relevance, such as it is, to really start sinking in? Dunno.
In contrast, when Gabe becomes a teenager in 2020, I will be the same age my parents were when I got married. When he graduates, I will be turning 50 that year. And if he, like me, doesn't start to have children until he's 33, I won't be a grandparent until 2040 and I'm 66 years old!
Which begs the question: Is it better to have children young or to be an old parent?
I've given this question MUCH thought over the years. And, despite the fact that all of my ponderings would seem to suggest that I wished I was younger when we had kids, I don't think I can, in good conscience, regret our decision one little bit. I mean, there is no denying that having small children is a young person's game in terms of keeping up with their demands, dealing with the complete lack of sleep, and all of the other energy sapping stuff that goes along with raising kids. Physically, I think humans are better suited to having kids when they're younger. Mentally, emotionally, and financially, however (at least in my case), not so much. In essence, I wish I could be younger right now while still having waited to have kids until we were older and more settled into things--the best of both worlds.
To be honest, I don't think I would have been prepared to have kids much before I turned 30 (we started trying when I was 28, and that was as early as I would have ever considered it). Plus, it was awfully nice being able to spend the first 10 years or so that Libby and I were together getting to know one another and not having to worry about the effect kids have on a relationship. It gave us something solid to work on now that we get pretty much ZERO time to ourselves--for this I blame all of my friends and family for either not being close enough or for having children that aren't the right age to babysit. Selfish bastards, not fashioning their lives around our child-rearing time tables.
And I guess that's all I have to complain about. Not that I'm REALLY complaining--more gnashing my teeth and shaking my fists at the heavens.
In other news, I have a new video of Norah. Yesterday, she discovered how to fake laugh. In this video, you'll notice the lion "punching bag" thing behind Norah. Yesterday, for reasons known only to her, she decided to sit on it. She just plunked herself down on its weighted base, facing the TV. And then she started fake laughing. Loudly. Perhaps in victory of her accomplishment. I was sitting in the dining room putting a puzzle together with Gabe at the table, so I had my back to her, and she started to make this noise. It completely freaked me out because it was unlike any other noise she's ever made before. I thought maybe she was choking or something. My heart raised and I think I pulled something in my neck I turned so fast to see what the problem was.
And there she was, sitting on her lion, her head tilted back, maniacally laughing like a super villain with volume control issues. She didn't do it for long, so I didn't have time to get the camera (that was when I brought the camera into the living room, though, in the hopes that I could catch either that or her walking, and got the other video I posted yesterday). But today she did it again and kept doing it for about three minutes, so I was able to catch a bit of it.
Oh, and she also discovered makeup yesterday. Well, not REAL makeup--washable marker used as makeup.
You can't see it in the picture because she wouldn't really hold still enough for me to get the side of her face, but her entire cheek and part of her ear are also black. I hope this isn't a sign of her being goth. There are many "phases" that I am mentally prepared to deal with, but I don't think goth and emo are on that list.
You can't see it in the picture because she wouldn't really hold still enough for me to get the side of her face, but her entire cheek and part of her ear are also black. I hope this isn't a sign of her being goth. There are many "phases" that I am mentally prepared to deal with, but I don't think goth and emo are on that list.
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