I had an epiphany while working the tattoo table at my children's schools Welcome Back Barbecue last week.

There I was, leaning awkwardly over a four year old, trying to get a Darth Vader tattoo stuck to his forehead. The darn thing wasn't sticking and the line-up was getting longer and longer. After four full minutes of pressing a sopping sponge to the boys head, only half of Darth was staying put. The other half curled into a nasty little ball.

Now, if I had been like my more accomplished colleagues (a.k.a. The Good Moms), I would have taken the time to coax that little ball back into shape. But not I.

Quickly scanning to make sure his parents weren't looking, I flicked the bad piece off and told my pint sized customer that he was now proudly sporting a rare Darth in Profile tattoo. Lucky boy!

I thought I had gotten away with it only to straighten up and meet the disgusted gaze of one of the other mothers. Caught!

And that's when it hit me - I don't want to do this anymore. I'm ready to move on. (Reproductively, that is. Not as in now becoming a bouncy castle monitor.)

This comes as a particular surprise to me when I consider how desperately I wanted children and what measures I went through in order to have them.

I never thought past what would happen when those children got older. It's as if I thought I would be in a perpetual state of motherhood, singing "Wheels on the Bus" every day for the rest of my life. (I can still do this but now my children roll their eyes and ask me to stop.)

Having young children is like diving into a deep lake. You are totally immersed and there's very little opportunity for anything but managing to get through the days.

But when your kids get a little older, it feels like you've finally come up for air. You take a look around and there's a good chance you're not at the same place you were when you started that dive.

I'm pleasantly surprised by the wonderful sense of "What next?" that I feel at this point. It strikes me that this is what nature intended - to feel this sense of liberation at a time when my body is shutting the door on baby making.

Now I know women in their 40s and even 50s who still want children and more power to them. Every situation is unique. But speaking strictly for myself, the thought of going back to baby days makes me shudder.

Where once all I could think about was how to get pregnant, now I worry about how not to conceive. (Interestingly, this coincides with our daughters going through their teen years and perhaps having the very same thought, further supporting the theory that mid-life is like a second adolescence.)

Sometimes it takes women a while to get their bearings, to figure out who they are now. And while that can be daunting, it's also fraught with possibilities.

I for one like to focus on the positive aspects, even if it's the little things.

For example, I have room for martini glasses in the cupboard now that I no longer have to house plastic cups and plates. I haven't walked out of the house with Cheerios stuck to my shoulder for several years. And my ability to put two coherent sentences together has returned, albeit at a time when perimenopause is threatening to take it away again.

I imagine I'll go through something like this all over again when my children leave home for work and university. I have many friends who are empty nester's and they report a mixed bag of feelings. Some can't wait to renovate the kids room while others miss their children so much they cry every day.

For now, I like this time of transition. So much so that I'm thinking of getting a tattoo that symbolizes and celebrates this stage of life. Perhaps a rare Darth in Profile.

Learn more about this author, Karen Hamilton.
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