The Lady Gray - aka Fussy McFusspants - is three days shy of being a month old. I've started packing up my maternity clothes and digging out my yoga pants. In just a couple of weeks I will be officially cleared to resume my normal activities. This makes me rather sad, to be honest. Not because I don't long to get back on the mat, but because my baby is growing too quickly. As much as I complain about the lack of sleep, I'd gladly go without sleep for the next year if she would just slow down. My sweet newborn daughter is coming into her personality, with all its glorious fussiness, but I miss her being just mine. I'm still not ready to share her with the world yet and all this packing up of maternity clothes is just reminding me that she's not in my belly anymore.
With The Monkey nearing his fourteenth birthday, it's just another reminder of how quickly time goes and how truly heartbreaking motherhood is. Heartbreaking in a good way, though. Because these magnificent creatures I have birth to are just so breathtakingly wonderful. But every year they get older is just another year closer to them being grown beings and not sweet babies anymore.
This is why I told The Fiancée that I'm not having anymore babies. That and because, as of Sunday, I officially hit my scary age and don't want to run the risk of conceiving a child with birth defects. Selfish, I know, but it's more about not wanting a child to have any kind of compromised life.
Time moves too fast, it does. One of these days, I wish it would slow down.