Hormonal Gravy Train

Earlier this week, it seems as though while riding the hormonal gravy train, I decided I could take no mo. Being a mother is a rough ride, some days, while others are all the good times and more, but I really don't have to go there, do I? My choo choo train car apparently derailed and I was thrown into I CAN TAKE IT NO MO LAND. I was tired and sick and, well, I guess it'll all be blamed on the rash of cool weather and my very hot hot flannel sheets. And, oh yes, my birthday. I cannot believe I'm at the point where multitasking has taken a backseat and the simple moments, like sleeping in my bed or in a chair with a good book, have become so wonderfully exquisite.
I treated myself on my birthday to a Mr. Starbucks Frappacino with, of course the extra shot of expresso to keep me alive and kickin. Happy Birthday to me-30 something years later-my choo choo and chugged along to a fabulously lovely place called motherhood. It is a nice land, but sometimes I just want to be myself again...the photographer, the journalist and writer, the student, the rebel, the punk, the skater girl, the groupie, the what the hell ever I was way back when. I know it's still me, but sometimes I feel lost, like those times romping through the graveyards from here to Mexico are oh so necessary. I'd really like to reclaim it all, ya know? Oh God, that's too fu*kin Oprah, right? TO RECLAIM my individual self, um, separate of my child persuasions. Anyway, so that was part of my self reflection choo choo ride this week and last. Good times then and now. I guess I just feel like an OLDER woman and I came to the conclusion that with all this staring into the looking glass, the getting older part might not be so bad.