I've gotten used to thinking of my death as the end. Before getting pregnant, with just Linda and myself in the mix, the only question was who would go first (she said it had to be her) and that would be it for our lives - a definitive period at the end of the timeline of she and me. It struck me today that now, that reality has likely been erased. It happened as I was listening to the radio and heard about something that was going to happen in 2030, and I thought to myself, "Hey, our kid will be almost 20 by then - in college, the owner of a heart that has been broken a few times, their first car a few years old." I enjoyed thinking that thought, and then it dawned on me. I'll be 56 then. Not too old, but still a senior citizen in some restaurant situations. And it went on from there - when my kid's my age, I'll be 72. (The strange part? My dad will be 72 this year.) I may no longer be around, but if I am or not, they'll (probably?) be thinking about me after I'm gone. Not every day, I'm sure, but more than the average friend or relative, and hopefully, I'll be influencing them in some way. Something I said to them or did with them, something that reminds them of me. Maybe there will be grandchildren, too. So, now, the period has become a question mark. I can't help but feel a little self-centered that I find the idea comforting.
93 days until baby.