I said (helpfully, I thought) "Just wait till the shoe's on the other foot. Like when you're giving birth and the doctor delivering your baby looks like he's about 22."
Not kidding. When he walked in at the 27th hour and, get this, politely introduced himself, I wanted to yell "you're not old enough to be delivering babies!". (I also wanted to yell "I don't care what your bloody name is!").
|He wasn't quite as young as Doogie Howser MD, but close.|
Becoming a mother is a turning point in one's life. That's a cliche. But overnight (and yes literally, overnight), I feel like I grew up and became "old", all at once. Not "old" in the "a-little-bit-older-and-more-responsible" sense, but really just old, in the "I-could-be-a-Grandma-if-I-wasn't-30" sense. I'm obviously having trouble picking peoples' ages. My muscles, bones and other unmentionable body parts hurt (or just look a bit saggy). I am constantly tired. I could do with an afternoon nap (or three). I'm sure I've got a few extra wrinkles. And the DH, upon becoming a father, suddenly got grey hairs and an obsession for laundry.
But are we any wiser? Probably not (though we could certainly impart a tip or two on parenthood). A bit jaded? I will say yes, definitely. Happier? I think so.