In a few weeks, I’ll be 28. Which really seems SO OLD to me. I know anyone over 30 reading this is laughing right now, and probably finds themselves gripped by an overwhelming urge to pat me on the head (or punch me in the face, depending on your sense of humor) but despite the fact that I know I’ve still got a lot of livin’ to do, I can’t help but feel that that my “wunderkind” window is swiftly slamming shut behind me. For whatever reason I didn’t take turning 27 very well. My friend Jessica reveled in reaching the age of dead rockstars, calling it the beginning of the Golden Era of Jessica – but then again, she always has managed to be much more fabulous than me. Instead, I woke up that morning in a funk, and I’m still trying to shake it.
This year, there’s a new internal battle brewing as my birthday approaches. I’m going to be a Mom. Sure…cute internet ladies seem to prefer to use the term “Mama” which makes it feel a lot more like the sassy pet name my college room mates and I used to toss around – as if the day would never come when that word might threaten to usurp our identities in a cloud of high waisted stretch denim and helmet hair (or the even more terrifying alternative of attaining MILF status, which is like a notch below Cougar on the dignity scale.) Up until now, my world has always revolved around me. But every morning that I wake up and see my swollen belly, I know that I’m inching closer to the day when I’M not the most important person in my life any more. The day that I become sidelined as “so-and-so’s Mom.” Will my time to matter end when my child’s begins?
The answer is of course, No. I know plenty of women who have already made the transition to motherhood while maintaining their own personality and style long after they give birth. It’s my hope that becoming “Mom” is going to add to my life, rather than…uh…bring it to a screeching and absolute halt.
For now, I’m going to face my fears head on (because, really, what else can I do?) Our baby will be here in 20 short weeks, and I’m sure I’ll want to pat myself on the head for ever having had these notions. But in the meantime, I’m going to do a lot of pregnancy pilates to avoid the formidable Mom pooch. If I’m gonna wear high waisted jeans, they’re gonna be the pair of awesome old school Jordache’s that I had to store under the bed with my other pre-pregnancy stuff to make room for my maternity clothes.
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