It’s official – I am the old mom. I will be thirty before my son turns one. This really hit me last month when I hired a staff member who also has a new baby…she’s ten years younger than me. Being older when having children isn’t all bad – we’re more fiscally responsible and stable now. We have a house Brandon can grow up in. We spoil him with toys and clothes and anything his little heart could ever desire.
But oh, my back! My joints aren’t young and spry – I need a massage and a long bath after trucking Brandon’s 20 or so pounds up and down the stairs. I need a nap after playing with him for two hours. Brandon knows his mom is old and he gave me a precious gift this week – he slept through the night every single night. Through the night for him is until the 5 o’clock hour. That’s fine with me because my alarm goes off at 6:00 am on weekday mornings anyway. I’m not completely caught up on sleep, but I am better rested now than I have been since he was born.
He doesn’t cry much anymore, either. He doesn’t even cry when he’s hungry. He just trusts that I’m keeping time and will have his bottle ready for him when he’s ready for it. The second he sees the bottle and it’s not in his mouth, he starts fussing and kicking his feet until I plug it into his mouth. But that’s about it. He really is the best baby ever. I can’t complain. If he wasn’t so good, I might not want another one. But now I do want another one – a Brandon clone would be perfect. And we better get a move on it before I’m as old as his friends’ grandmas.