I feel this period of my life is aging me.
As I lie in bed woken once again by the bub who has gotten used to our small bed and to me holding her, I feel my tiredness. It’s so tangible. I feel it in every fibre of my being.
I didn’t expect to feel so aged by this phase of my life, this season of parenthood. But every day when I look in the mirror at the drawn, pale face staring back at me, I feel so much older.
Then I look at the beautiful face of my 3 year old as she brushes her teeth and flashes of my youth appear in my mind. Memories of the days with ruddy cheeks, plump pink lips and a carefree childhood. Memories also flood back of the moment I realised my mother had aged. It seemed instantaneous at the time, like it happened overnight. I am that same age now.
Youthfulness is bestowed liberally on the young, the young who so often want to grow up so fast. Don’t they realise they are adults for a very, very, very long time?
The baton of life gets passed on; full of the many days to come of crafting, painting and building dreams. I believe I still have time for some of my own dreams yet but I can’t stop the aging. I just wish I didn’t feel it so palpably, every day in my bones.
Linking with With Some Grace for FlogYoBlogFriday (FYBF).