One of the great unsolved mysteries that menopausers seek to solve is "Where did the time go?" We blinked and found that we had lost thirty or forty years. I married my beloved (aka The Wretch) when I was twenty one. Nearly forty years later, I wonder, "Where did those years go?" (And along with that, where did my figure go, not to mention my sanity.)
I started counting up. I spent nearly ten years being pregnant. (Really, it wasn't quite that long as we had four children the natural way, one adopted. It does account for 36 months, or three years, but when you figure in the bloating, morning sickness, craziness, and general "I feel like crap" parts of pregnancy, I feel entitled to round it up to ten years.) I spent another ten years nursing. Yes, it was that long. I have the stretched boobs and bite marks to prove it.
Then there's chauffeuring. That easily accounts for fifteen years. Chauffeuring to orthodontist appointments, church activities, Little League, and paino lessons. Chauffeuring to school phyiscals, school plays, and seminary. Chauffeuring to Great Books Club, football practice, and flute lessons. Chauffeuring to therapy. (Really, that was me chaufferuing myself to therapy, but, hey, it's still driving somebody somewhere, so it counts.)
Well, that's thirty-five years right there. Somewhere along the line, I must have been attending to my beloved. (Or how else would I have gotten pregnant the four times to begin with?)
Gem for the day: when you ask yourself where the time went, be careful. You might find the answer.