Princeton the dog is our first child, and even though he’s not human, I swear we are more related than I ever thought.

I now age like him. I had Madelyn at 28, but I am certain, just three months later, I am now 196. What is it with having a baby that ages women in dog years? Before I know it, I will be sticking my head in a bowl of water to hydrate myself and peeing on trees.

I’ve always been told that I look much younger than I am. I’ve often been mistaken for a high schooler, and when I was pregnant, I sometimes got looks from judgey old ladies who probably thought I was a regular on Teen Mom. I’ve never really minded looking young except for the times that customers or colleagues didn’t take me seriously because I lacked an older look.

Now, though, I don’t think those customers or colleagues would take me seriously because I look like Benjamin Button. A baby popped out of me and now I look like the subject of a Renaissance painting. And I have aged so much, people might actually mistake me for being as old as the Renaissance. Over night, I noticed lines in the corners of my eyes and the early signs of Bassett Houndism in the jowls. My Chanukah wish list is starting to rival an Oil of Olay catalog.

My energy has plummeted and I can’t even blame it on sleepless nights because Madelyn snoozes like a champ (wonder who she got that from…). I constantly feel lethargic and conk out around 10 p.m. which is so unlike me since I’ve always been a night owl. I thought that maybe I needed to do some physical activity to elicit energy, but I actually become more exhausted. Going on a walk makes me feel like I should actually use a walker. I thought about going for a swim, and despite the fact that it’s a freezing 60 degrees in Southern California right now, I don’t have a ruffled one-piece bathing suit and arm floaties — the official old lady swim costume.

Speaking of bathing suit: never again. No really, I will never wear one again. This post-partum body is a horror. Three-way mirrors are now my new sworn enemies. I thought I’d try a little shopping to get some new seasonal clothes and it’s almost funny how unfunny the shopping experience was. I could open up a bakery with the muffin top that now resides where my fairly trim middle used to live. Don’t get me wrong, I was never Scarlet O’Hara with that ridiculous waist (must be nice, Viv!), but the extra skin that used to house my baby is a little — how shall I say this? — in the way. To accommodate the extra bulk, I tried on a bigger size (I try not to get hung up on numbers), but then the pants are too long or the dress is baggy on top. My new official post-partum uniform consists of stretch pants and long shirts. I have become that person.

I really am going to start more regular exercise now that my wound is better and I have the go-ahead from Dr. Fiiiine, and I hope I can reverse the aging that occurred in dog years. I want to go back to feeling and looking youthful because if this keeps up, people will tell me what a sweet little granddaughter I have and I don’t want my image to go to the dogs.