My name is Erin. I’m a toddler mom and a pup mom. I had my son in May of 2016. Becoming a mom was the scariest thing I’ve ever done, and I have loved every moment of it. I am a stay at home writing mom. I write everyday after my son goes to bed. My partner occasionally works away from home. When he’s home, we spend as much family time together as possible, and when he’s gone, I practice my Solo Mom Life. Life isn’t always easy, but I try to be as grateful as I can. My son helps with that. You can find my blog at thewritingmomma.ca or follow me on Instagram and Facebook at thewritingmommalife
I remember when I was turning 30. It seemed like such a huge milestone. I convinced myself I was ready for it. I convinced myself I was okay with not being in my 20s anymore. For the most part I was. Something I couldn’t imagine in my early 30s was turning 40. I didn’t even think about it, or consider that I would ever be THAT old.
Something happened during the last 8 years. I no longer fear aging. I turn 39 in September, and I am already planning my 40th birthday. I am proud of everything I’ve been through in my life. It is a privilege to grow older. (Although, I’m not ready to think about 50 yet.)
I’m proud of who I am becoming, and I’m proud of the journey it took to get here. I will never stop changing and learning, but I’m okay with that. I look forward to the next adventures I’ll have through my last year of my 30s, and into my 40s.
It’s funny though, while my heart is content about my own age, for some reason, I cannot believe my son is already three. I can’t believe that somehow he is getting older. Time isn’t slowing down. I want to keep him in my arms longer, and I can’t understand how my newborn baby is now telling me stories, talking nonstop, and running everywhere. He’s getting smarter and more curious all the time. He won’t stop aging.
It scares me that someday, I won’t be able to hold him in my arms when I want him to sleep. I won’t be able to fix things simply by kissing his knees better when he scrapes them. I’m never going to be ready for my baby to grow up, and it’s already happening. He’s still my baby, but he’s not. These feelings may be because he’s my first and my last, but I just think it’s normal. I look at some of my friend’s kids, and it feels like they’ve all gone from baby to kid to teenager in no time.
My turning 40 in 2020 is nothing compared to the fact that he will be 4 in 2020. It’s funny that we spend so much time dreading a new age even though – to put it simply – growing older means you’re alive. There’s never anything wrong with that.
I guess I need to look at his growing older the same way I do with my age. I can be proud of how far he has come. I can be happy he’s healthy and happy. I can enjoy how interactive and curious my child is, and look forward to every new thing he is going to learn. I can look forward to him continuing to learn who he is, and who the people around him are. I am happy with my life right now, and I want him to grow up being happy with his life.
I can always improve. As I move closer to my 40s, I want to be better. Better in my mom life, better in my writing life, better in my own life. I want to always strive to be better, and I want to always follow my dreams. If he grows up with the same attitude, I will be happy to watch him grow and discover the world. (I’ll be happy either way, but also probably be shedding a few tears.) Here’s to growing older. For the Little Ones, and the Mommas.