It makes sense that I wanted chickens. The inertia built up over twenty five years of birthing, nursing and raising young children could not decelerate without a cooling down period. I remember the day I realized that it was the first time since 1981 that I did not have a child under four. It was in 2006. The twins have been an elegant finale to our family, and yet in their preteens I sometimes felt like they needed me less than my other children had. They would of course have been devastated if I died, but they would have been more so if their womb mate did. They had one another to talk to. Cuddle. Confide in. Walk with. I was second string. 

Having a coop full of fluffies whose eyes were pinned to me when I came out of the door each morning was a stepping stone from Center of the Universe to Superfluous. 

Being the queen of your family is a great ride. It is also exhausting. 

As I slide the gearshift of my metabolism from fourth to second, I feel camaraderie with people who have transitioned before me. Coming to terms with the diminishing contribution we make to the world around us is perhaps as imperative as believing that there is a reason we were born.