Feeling old is new to me. It's not fun, easy to accept, or anything that I'd recommend to someone else. It's here to stay, though, or so it seems. So I guess that I need to get used to it.
I'm not sure if its the fact that I am now a mother (read: supposed to be mature), almost 31, or that my weekends are not the same as they were B.C. (Before Connor). As I write this, I feel like I should stop because I'm not supposed to feel this way. Please don't get me wrong: I love Connor and if I could go back in time, I'd do it all over again. But (and you knew that a "but" was coming, didn't you?) I'm not good at this whole "change" thing. That's all that I can guess. I'll get there... eventually.
Part of my frustration is the small amount of time that I get to spend with Dennis. Just me and Dennis. Dennis and me. When we do get a free minute to ourselves in the evening, we are both too exhausted to really enjoy each other. On the few occasions that we have managed to escape for a dinner out, I am reminded very quickly how much I love, love, LOVE being able to talk to my husband. Isn't that sad? [Insert double-edged sword here.] As much as I enjoy our alone time, I still manage to feel guilty for not having Connor with us. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE? THIS MAKES NO SENSE WHAT-SO-EVER.
Now that I'm thinking this through as I type this post, I am seeing that more of my frustration and feeling like an old hag is due to the fact that our old-school-Dennis-and-Krista-fun-and-relaxing-time has diminished ... if not completely disappeared. I need to find a way to squeeze that back into our routine. And not just during Connors nap time.