Is It Really Just A Number?

I am feeling ancient this week for a coupl’a reasons. One is that I have a birthday coming up in less than a month, which puts me in an interesting mood; a little bit melancholy and a whole lota contemplative. Every birthday since I turned 40 (and there have only been a few of them, just so you know) makes me navel-gaze.

And then my 6 yo considers me to have one foot in the grave. As I attempted to lift him onto the monkey bars today, I inadvertently let out a groan. “You should work out more, Mom,” he said. “You’re getting old.” He watched a commercial for wrinkle cream recently and suggested I buy some. And then he informed me that, by the time he goes to college, I’ll probably be dead. Why? “Because you’re old, Mom! Duh.” This child of mine does not mince words.

In my defense, let me just say that I am not that old. If I was living in the Pioneer Days, where the life expectancy was not far past 30, sure, I’d be considered The Matriarch of The Meadow.The Grimalkin of the Lea. People would come to me for advice on herbal remedies, and I’d deliver all the babies. But were I inhabiting a goat-hair tent in The Old Testament Days, when people blew out 500 candles on their Birthday Manna, I’d be a mere babe. So really, it’s all relative.

And speaking of relatives...I attended a suprise birthday party this weekend for a friend who turned 50. Which led me to remember when my parents turned 50. And when they turned 40. And I have a distinct memory of my mother’s 30th birthday....and feeling sad and wistful because my mom was leaving her 20s, and I grieved that she was “getting old.” But my mother is now in her 60s, and still looks amazingly youthful. And so did her parents. I’m hoping it’s in the genes.

And speaking of jeans....I can fit into my daughter’s, and she’s 17. So that’s something positive! And I always look for the positive. But yet.....I get crickety when I sit in one position for too long. And my stamina is not what it used to be. And I only use moisturizer with alpha hydroxy acids. And I get peri-menopausal rages over stupid things, like a red sock in the wash turning all the whites rose. And don’t ask me about my memory. My kids say I’m starting to repeat things. My kids say I’m starting to repeat things.

Must end now. My fingers are beginning to get arthritic from so much typing.