My name is Julie, and I am planning to have a midlife crisis this year. I've been planning it for a while now. Late last year, I made it clear to my husband that shortly I would either have an affair, spend all his money or get a job. I'm sure you can guess which one he picked.
Before you write me off as some whining suburbanite with chubby thighs and an addiction to Jersey Shore, let me tell you why I am going to have a midlife crisis. Number one: I am turning forty. I HATE the idea of turning 40. All my friends who have hit that milestone either have bunions, pee when they laugh or can't sleep without Ambien. My doctor warned me my metabolism would plummet after April 21. I remember my mother being 40. On every survey I will have to switch from checking the 35 - 39 box to the 40+ box. That sucks.
Number two: my little boy, who just turned five, will be going to kindergarten in the fall. He will join his older sister, who is almost eight, in elementary school. This is the kid I (very affectionately) call my barnacle -- he comes home from preschool at 11:30 am and follows me around the house saying, "I love you, Mommy" every five minutes. If I sit at the computer he climbs in the chair behind me. If I am making lunch, he drinks milk and then tries to pick me up to see if he's gotten stronger. Okay, it gets highly annoying after a while, but I will miss it nonetheless.
And number three, I want a job. I haven't "worked" in eight years, since I had my daughter. I was very corporate for a long time, and as discombobulated as I felt shedding my heels and suits and staying home with a newborn is as discombobulated as I feel now. I've put eight years into being a great mom. I have given it my heart, my soul, my tears, my laughter, everything. Every ounce of ambition and determination and drive I ever had in my corporate job has gone into raising my children. But now I feel as though they're both going to be in school, and I am going to have six long hours to myself, and I don't want to be one of those women who shrivel up and die when their kids aren't around. I need something for myself.
So, those are my three big sources of angst, and the three big reasons I am going to have a midlife crisis. I am starting to feel the deepest and quietest tremors of discontent, and that scares me. I guess it's the age-old question -- what happens when you get everything you want, and it's not enough?