I am officially now an older mama. I turned 36 yesterday, but it's only a number right. I always hear people say they feel forever young. Now this is true, but then as I flick through, say, Vogue magazine and bask in the wonder of a model's dewy skin or silky hair, I find out that these people really are 20 (and younger still, quelle horreur) and in fact 'aging' (subtle or otherwise) doesn't give a rats that you think you still feel 20; it will bestow upon you the aging that you deserve.
The last week I've been sewing bassinet sheets, more clothes for Lucy (stop already) and also a couple of things for me. I made a dress which I really liked (based on my smock dress pattern) but with pockets and a slimmer fit, but after trying it on realised my 36 weeks pregnant stomach makes everything look ridiculous and hacked it into a shirt which I can actually wear right now. Of course I regret doing it, but I always make a pattern just in case (which I keep as is, or modify) so maybe I'll give it another crack once my body becomes my own again.