Fuzzy fleece sleepers shouldn't be depressing, but they are

Tonight's Birthday Month activity: going out to buy Baby Fraggle several new fuzzy fleece sleepers. 

Ok, not the obvious choice, but it truly wasn't about the sleepers. It was about leaving the house, by myself, at night, with a loud car stereo.  I also stopped at the bank and bought a McFlurry. 

There is, though, something very sad about the sleepers. The only reason I needed to buy them was that all of Fraggle's existing sleepers are too small. She grew out of them literally overnight. 

This is only one example of how quickly she is aging, and of course, how quickly I'm aging right along with her. What a cliché... They grow so fast. Well, I'm learning that clichés are clichés for a reason. She is growing so fast. 

After months of standing on furniture and rolling onto her back, and weeks of sitting up unassisted, she finally rolled onto her tummy - which was wonderful, until she decided she might like to sleep that way. So, with her face firmly planted in the mattress and my paranoia shooting off the charts, I sat and watched her nap most of the day yesterday. And do you know what I was thinking? (aside from "please don't suffocate")...  I was thinking: "Who ARE you?"

I didn't recognise this lovely little being. She was bigger and taller and she had longer hair. And she was sleeping on her friggin stomach. 

Who ARE you?

She's growing so fast, and I'm thrilled, but I can't keep up. She does something new every single day and yet stops doing something else. I miss her. I adore her, and I'm excited about all the fun places she's headed, but I miss her. 

Time is a jerk to me right now and my 30th birthday isn't exactly helping. But good god save me when she turns one year old. 

The year *after*

Part of the problem with getting older is feeling older. 

In some ways, this can be a benefit. For example, I like feeling a bit emotionally stronger, a bit wiser, a bit more me. On the flip side, however, feeling older also includes feeling a bit weaker, a bit more crippled, a bit less agile. 

Up until this point, the changes in my body have been gradual - a slow but relatively steady decline. Sure, this me isn't as tight or lean as the early 20s me, but whatever, I've been alright with that. 

Until pregnancy. 

Pregnancy beat me up. Not only was it risky toward the end, but it kicked the shit out of my unprepared and unfit body, and it did so at a rapid pace. It started with not being able to eat properly, moved onto not being able to tie my shoes, and ended with two months of "rest" and daily shaths. (Aka shower-baths.) Oh and then labour and delivery and stitches and hormones and breakdowns and oh good god save us all. 

My mind was probably stronger than when I was young, but not if you consider ignorance bliss (which may have served me well when pregnant). 

In any case, this year isn't only the year I turn 30. It's the year after the year I grew a tiny human and became its mother. 

As a mom, I feel so fucking OLD. Not only mentally and socially, where I'm a member of a new (super cool) club of parents - which means I relate more to the grandmas at a bridal shower than the bride and her friends - but also physically. Physically, I am so fucking WORN OUT. I'm tired all the time (although she does sleep 8 hours now!). My back is pinched in ways I didn't know were humanly possible. My knees ache. My neck aches. My head aches. 

The only thing that makes all of that not excruciating is the fact that it doesn't really matter. In a world where I have Fraggle, and Fraggle has me, I've got the mom superpower* that makes it all possible... even tolerable... even wonderful. 

But for chrissakes I'm in pain. I'm an old lady with kinks and cracks all over and I need a friggin massage. And an exercise routine. And probably a doctor. 

So. Tonight's Birthday Month activity was: a) a brief walk outside, providing much needed fresh air on a rough day; and, b) two pathetic sun salutations. 

And that totally counts. 

*See @msfreshfish's semi-recent post!