Midlife Crisis?

I'm soon to be 47, so this could be exactly midlife for me. Or not... depending on life's little accidents. But since I can't predict these events, biologically, my clock could be on the down swing. The point being, I'm in crisis. And it's the strangest thing.

Lately I've been yearning for a passion. Not passion, but a passion. For example an acquaintance has archeology to fuel the blood through his veins. For others it's Colorado, reading, work, pottery, church, teaching, or gardening. I look back upon my life and all I see lately are the passions that I let slip away. The drug designing, the computer work, photography, the running, and lately -- the writing.

I'm fighting against the passion of my children. Wanting to be labeled for something more than the fact I gave birth, or that I'm the official taxi driver to my stars. I don't want to live my life through theirs, but lately my life revolves about their axis. And I'm trying to break orbit. It would be just for a little while.

For deep down inside I realize that the sun does rise and set in accordance with my girls' overall being. Everyday, read here, absolutely everyday, when I drop the lovelies off at their morning summer program, I hear, "HI, Mrs. Ptcakes!" and "HI, Dee's Mom!" and smile. These wonders know me through my children. They know me because we share our maple syrup and the art of maple sugaring with them each spring. They know me because I read to them from Mrs. Mach's bathtub. And that should be good enough. But right now, I need the litany to include more than:

mom
taxi driver
house cleaner
short and long order cook
the person who does laundry
the person who reminds the lovelies that if toys are not put away their next home, for the toys, is the trash
house painter
building coordinator
school volunteer
church volunteer
housesitter
bill payer
fish tank cleaner
life's cruise director and social and event planner
disciplinarian -- not my favorite, but someone has to do it
defender of the garden against groundhogs -- a battle I'm sorely losing

When I was younger, in my early 30s. I worked on designing chemotherapeutic agents -- ie drugs, using basic quantum mechanical principles. I worked with, talked with, and learned from some of the brightest minds on this planet. During this time I worked 20 hours a day, and slept for 4. I couldn't physically sleep for longer. My body wouldn't allow it. The excitement of the field would wake me after one short power nap per night. I was studying drugs. It was my drug. I was addicted. And this addiction only stopped when I found myself pregnant. For I knew children and this work schedule could not mix for me. No child deserves an absentee parent. So the drugs and I parted.

And it's not that I want them back. But something... so when my children are grown, and become embarrassed by all my hugging and kissing, I won't be floundering to fill my time and space. So, lately I've been asking myself: What do I want to be when my children grow up?