Inexorable March Towards Death

Does that title fully encapsulate the feelings I've been having since the birth of my son? I mean, this is how I feel a lot lately.

I was never a very age-conscious person. Yes, I wanted to hit 16 to drive and 21 to drink (legally), and as we all aged into our mid and late 20's we joked about being OOOOLD because we were less and less connected with the pop culture. But I never felt truly OOOOLD, I felt older, and yes, not as the target demographic, but I wasn't exactly 'in' the target demographic as a teenager either.

People I knew were and are going back to school, making career changes, moving, living life on the fly. Because hey, we're young! And when I think about being 29? Hey! I can do anything! I could start a business and go back to school and learn to fly. Whatever I want! I should go out and seize the day!

By myself this is how I feel.

When I look at my son, I'm 84 and on the brink of death. Perhaps I've taken it too much to heart that these days will pass too too quickly, and then I'll be dead.

You know, I think about him growing up, going to school, becoming a teenager, learning to drive, going to college, getting married, having children, and then I'll be dead.

I don't seem to be able to stop this train of thought anywhere earlier. It always ends with "and then I'll be dead". Which is, naturally, leading me to try and imagine as little of my son's future as possible, because in his future, no matter what, I'm dead.

When I think about being 29, and what I want to do with my life, it never ends with "and then I'll be dead". I can think of myself in my 50's and 60's (hopefully) retired and enjoying travel with my husband. I can think about trying out a business, having it last for ten years, and letting it go, and my demise doesn't factor in.

But there's something about an infant, *my* infant, that is a huge neon sign advertising my impending status as worm food. It's totally freaking me out.