I had this thought the other night; how old am I?  Math says 22 but is that right?  Sure I’ve been on this earth for only 22 years but is that all I’ve really accomplished?  For the last couple years I have felt very ahead of my time.  And no, I don’t mean the cliche bullshit that I’m so much more mature than others my age and “Oh my God, can you believe how fucking wonderful I am?  I have no flaws and everything figured out, yet I’m only in my twenties!”  I mean where the hell did all this living come from.

Graduating from college, working the 8 to 5, getting engaged, having a 9 month old son!  Where did you come from?  Well, the baby part need not be explained, I was there for that.  But I could of sworn just yesterday I was having an estate sale, sleeping on a blow-up mattress in my living room, and drinking wine with Roth at 10am.  And I could have sworn just last week sleeping in my car in Blythe’s courthouse parking lot.  Or maybe trying to find Desert Ridge for the first time with Alyssa.  So many memories that are so fresh, yet happened so long ago.  Sometimes  I make the mistake or thinking I graduated from Ridge 8 years ago.  Sometimes I think it’s been 3.  The correct answer?  Only after some quick math can I figure out it’s been 5.  Five years of craziness.  Five years of different nicknames. (Why must everyone feel the need to rename me, btw?)

In ‘05-06.. when I became LCB.  Camping out in Tucson for the hell of it, classic rock on 24/7 and Sunday “Family” dinners at Applebees.  Then in ‘06-07.. when I became Leny.  The Mcarthy house and my dog, Rusty.  Getting robbed and getting Champ back.  And in ‘07-08.. when I was Nette.  Rodeos and Mexico.  Dance parties.  Every night like a scene from “Just Dance”.  ‘08-09… when I became Momma.  Finding out I had pretty much no real friends but wasn’t too surprised by the realization.  More importantly finding out I was going to have a baby.  And finally ‘09-10.. when I became.. Net.  “Net, like the internet,” my boss says.  Ha. Ha.  Working for the man and being an adult.  Baking cakes on Friday nights and buying house plants.

Even typed out like that I still wonder how I did all that living in those 5 years.  And I guess I’ll probably never know.

So, my son’s first birthday was a week ago.

Let me repeat that. MY. SON’S. FIRST. BIRTHday was a week ago.

Can you feel the incredulity in my voice?

Is this why he can no longer wear the cute tiny outfits from Target’s Newborn section?

My son was born 3 months early. When he arrived so impatiently, he weighed 1 pound, 9 ounces; that’s 711 grams for any metric-based readers. Just over a pound and a half. He was the size of a shoe, about the weight of a loaf of bread. I realize newborns are small, but they’re not supposed to be that small.

Given the daily prayers for growth, the celebratory texts and eMails going out to family and friends announcing every gram put on, and the steak dinner in honor of reaching the two pound mark, I thought I would be immune to a Mom’s wish for her child to stay small. The Carter’s tagline on some hand-me-down outfits was, in fact, “If they could just stay little.” When I first read it, I snorted. I literally snorted with contempt for those moms who *don’t* want their child to grow.

He grew. He continues to grow. On his first birthday, he weighed 20 pounds, 12 ounces. He is now the weight of a car tire, an obese cat or a record-breaking fish. HE’S HUGE!

I recently, carefully and thoughtfully, went through Ollie’s wardrobe. It was a daunting process. We waited for two months for him to be BIG ENOUGH to wear a PREEMIE onesie, and now that same outfit looks like it would clothe a cross-dressing Barbie doll. I unfolded a favorite froggy outfit from his first days at home and thought, “AWWW….where did my little tiny baby go?”

I wander through the Newborn department and sigh with mixed emotions. I couldn’t wait for Ollie to fit in Newborn clothes. When he graduated to 3 month size, we celebrated; another happy text to update those who were there for the NICU journey. Now I miss the cuddles of a newborn, the tiny mittens he wore, the being able to lift him without a groan and “putting my back into it.”

It brought tears to my eyes. I cried because my son has grown.

I’m getting like a regular mommy now, aren’t I?