I feel old.
Objectively, I’m not actually that old, but I’m feeling it in a way that I haven’t before. I’m closer to 30 than 20, still young but not the youngest anymore.
Maybe I’m hitting that heretofore-mythical stage when one starts feeling like an adult.
It’s a confluence of factors, I think. The changing of the seasons, heading into yet another summer at the end of yet another year of grad school. The eternity of the same routine, when a whole class of college students has been and gone and graduated in the time I’ve been here.
My body is still finding its post-breastfeeding equilibrium, shifting and aching in ways both familiar and new. My clothes hang differently than they used to, and I feel more comfortable dressing as a “mom” than as a “young adult.”
And speaking of that mom thing, my kid is almost two. Where does the time go?
Time is forcing me to change the vision I have of myself in my head.
It’s hard, and I am tired.