This new job/schedule continues to kick my ass and remind me just how old I am becoming. Yesterday I had a shift at the restaurant and by the end, I really felt like my feet may fall off and leave me balancing on some bloody stumps, still valiantly trying to put together a salad that is EXACTLY 2.5 ounces. I’m sure I’ll get used to it, but my day job is at a desk, so I am really not used to being on my feet for that long of a stretch. Plus, you know, it’s not like those feet are carrying around something SMALL, if you know what I mean.
In other news, can we talk about how my baby is turning SEVEN on Friday and I most certainly did not give my permission for this to happen. The other day we went to the libray and he told me that we no longer need to check out books for him, because now that he is seven he is too old for a bedtime story. Then he asked me why I looked like I was going to cry… I guess my face didn’t hide my emotion that well. But I’ve been reading to him since the day he was born; I used to read him my books when he was too little to understand, and every night since then we have had that quality time. It is our constant, and the only time when he slows down enough for me to stroke his hair, or take in the fine spray of freckles on his nose. Now I just…put him to bed. Oh, growing up is so hard! (on me!)