Remember that last semester of university? The thrill of finishing school combined with the knowledge that you might never again have regular, scheduled 2 p.m. naps?

I’m having similar flip-flopping feelings now. In six short months, both my kids will be in school full time. No more babies at home. I’ve already had three dreams in which I lose my son in the school building. In one, I was grocery shopping and suddenly realized I’d forgotten to pick him up. In another, I was volunteering with a group of older kids and I accidentally left him behind. Obviously, I’m having some separation anxiety.

On the other hand, there will be six hours (SIX!) of quiet in my house. EVERY DAY. If I want to get my hair cut, I will be able to do that without major advance childcare planning. If I want to go into a store filled with breakable items, I can do so without lecturing, glaring, or tooth gnashing. I will even be able to… gasp… write. Kind of even full-time. Or at least a lot less part-time than I’ve been writing for the past eight years.

And just as I had all sorts of plans upon leaving school (eg. make enough money to buy hardcover books, new shirts, and breakfast cereal*), I have plans now. So many plans that they are spilling out of my head onto scraps of paper and into random laptop files. I wake up at 5 in the morning with plans. I make plans in the shower. I make plans while listening to my son play three blind mice on the organ…

over…

and over…

and over again.

I have six more months to go. I have to calm down.

* I had unrealistic expectations for wages in the arts. I didn’t actually achieve any of these goals until I married someone in the sciences.