Getting older

As I climbed out of bed last night to head to the bathroom for one of my many pee breaks, I caught a glimpse of my very pregnant self in the mirror.  This is going to sound kind of stupid, but in that moment, it hit me that I’m an adult.  A real, full-blown grown up.

My husband was at work and I was home alone with my three-year-old asleep in the room next door.  I’m expecting another baby any day now.  I have a house.  I’m a mom.  I’m old!

I mean, obviously, I knew I was an adult before that moment.  But for some reason, something about seeing myself in the mirror threw me off.  It took me a moment to regroup.

Thinking about it today, it kind of makes me laugh.  I’m 35-years-old (will be 36 in a couple of weeks!) and I know that isn’t terribly old, but sometimes I wonder where all the years went.  At times, I feel like a teenage girl inside.  If my husband could tolerate it, I would pull out my old fuchsia and purple bedding for our room (my only regret when we moved in together was giving up my hot pink room!).  I have a bunch of episodes of vampire-centric tv shows saved up on my PVR.  I can’t wait for the super-slushy snow to melt so I can pull out my new purple Uggs.

So when did I suddenly get so old?  It feels like it wasn’t all that long ago that I first left home for university and had to figure out how to take care of myself.  Now, I’m responsible for raising a family.  Crazy.

I guess the fact that I’m about to become a mother of two has made me realize how quickly time goes by.

 

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