What will I be when I grow up?

I always expected to have a fairly good idea of what I wanted to do with my life by the age I am now.

I am 25 years old.  And a half, actually.

I can think of one hundred things I would love to do right now.

None of them practical.  Many I will never achieve, probably.

I can think of a few other things that I would like to do; a vague idea of someone I might like to be.

A writer.

Perhaps if the wind were blowing in a different direction...

But nothing concrete; no actual plans.

Not anything realistic.

I already am something, of course.

The best thing I could be.

I am a parent; a mother.

I spend all day, every day with the two most wonderful people in the world.

I stay up until half 12 (on a school night!) hiding Thomas engines in lemon jelly.

And my children are my passion.

But I can't do this forever.

I would love to.  It breaks my heart to think of this as temporary.  I wish I could freeze them in time and spend my forever with them.

I wish.

A hopeless wish.

It is almost tangible, this sense that the life I want, the one I am striving to achieve, is slipping away before it is even fully realised.

Jasmine starts school in September; the beginning of the end.

She will not be returned to me in the same condition.

She will grow and discover and stop believing in things and start choosing friends over family. 

Then, in the not-too-distant future, Sonny will follow.

And they will thrive, for their hearts are good, their souls pure, their minds active, creative.

But what then for me?

What can I do?

What will I be when my children grow up?

What will I be when I grow up?