I'm Old

(Baby Sophia Halloween costume. Just 'cause.)

I feel like an old person. I know. If you are older than me (32) then you just said, "Oh, fuck you" and are about to click back over to that Slate article you were sort of reading before. But listen, I said I FEEL like I'm an old person and there are a few very specific reasons why.

First of all, pregnancy. I can't bend over or walk or climb a flight of stairs without mouth breathing. I have strange aches and pains that I feel compelled to discuss at length with everybody. I vaguely remember being more mobile, once upon a time, but these memories only make me grumpier about my current state of obese inability. I see other people--thin, muscular people in spandex, jogging--and I just want to scream at them to GET OFF MY LAWN. 

In general, children. If you have kids, you are automatically old. If you don't have kids, you might as well be perpetually 22 years old, with your disposable income and your sleeping in and your drinking. You might THINK that you are busy/poor/tired but you are WRONG. So just the fact that I have a kid (and another on the way) makes me a hundred years old.

Finally, there's just the general sense of compromise. I read this essay by a 25 year old giving advice to recent college grads (it is not nearly as annoying as it sounds) and it made me realize a lot of things. This writer totally has her shit together in a way I do not. But then I realized that when I was 25, I totally had my shit together too! I was already a married home owner. I had four years of teaching experience behind me.  I was running my own business. I was starting to take my writing seriously, revising my first novel that would eventually get me an agent and give me the push to go to grad school. Honestly, when I was 25, shit was really good and promising and I felt good about it. And I think that's the main thing. When I was 25, I was still completely optimistic about everything. I will publish this novel! I will renovate this house! I will make money selling yarn!

So far, my thirties have been filled with compromise. I kind of want to blame this on my kid. I love her, of course, but things like laundry and grocery shopping and health insurance now take a precedence they never did before. Also, all the infinite amount of time I used to spend reading and writing and doing yoga or whatever is now spent wrestling a tooth brush out of a screaming two year old's hand and forcing it into her mouth while she wriggles and claws at me. How many novels could I write in the time I spend pleading with my toddler to do things? LOTS. 

Anyway, after the new baby comes, I'm gonna try my best to be my 25 year old self again. Until then? I'm gonna be the grumpiest old lady you ever saw.