18 Months of Max
Last weekend, Max officially turned 18 months old, and I turned 172. Or that’s what it feels like, anyway.
A year-and-a-half of parenthood has both passed in a flash, and crawled by so slowly I’ve sometimes wondered if time was going backwards. It feels like just a few weeks since I was heading to the hospital, with my collection of badly-packed bags, but, at the same time, it feels like at least 7 years since I got out of bed this morning, and it’s currently only 11am. So while I don’t want to be That Person who’s all, “Oh, the days are long, but the years are short!” I totally AM going to be that person, because OMG, THE DAYS, THEY ARE LONG. Reeeeaaalllly, reeeaaalllly long.
The years, though, are most definitely very, very short: so that part’s true, too. This time last year, for instance, we had a baby. Now? Now we have a little boy: a fully-formed little person who can walk, talk (Well, after a fashion…) and absolutely rock a cord blazer, not even joking: