I turn 40 in a few short days and it has hit me like the cliché ton of bricks people often talk about. Where did my life go? Not to sound overly dramatic, but honestly? It’s very likely that at least half of it is over. And, having had both parents die in their 40s, well, let’s just say it’s hard for me to believe I even have half left (as ridiculous as it is).

Forty, man. The last time I checked, I looked like this:

And so while I’m in the middle of this tornado of realization that life indeed is fleeting (even my own) and everything does go by so fast, my youngest child turned four years old. I no longer have a baby or even a toddler anymore. I only have a preschooler for one more short year.

I am so sad about all of this. I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want to let them GO. I want to pay attention and (eyeroll) SAVOR EVERY MOMENT.

But, of course, I won’t. I can’t. It’s not even possible to enjoy it all as it’s happening. Not all of it, anyway. I’ll never find a way to enjoy a bedtime standoff or a colossal potty accident or a tantrum of epic proportions. The same four year old who I am crying over didn’t sleep for the first two years of her life. I don’t miss that. At all. I’m human and I will miss things. I’m sad about it, but forgiving.

In the meantime, I’m going to try to be present with these awesome girls of mine, this beautiful family I have and also try to pressure my husband into succumbing to my mid-life crisis: a dog.