Anytime I’ve been asked my age for the past 20 years or so, I have responded with a very serious, “I’m 29.” I have been so adamant about this age that my daughter even bought birthday cake candles of these numbers that she can use year after year on my cake (although I don’t think that I’ve gotten a cake since that first year – hmmm). Well, I hate to say it, but I think my days of being 29 are over.
First of all my body is getting old. I ache in places I didn’t even know you could hurt in. My joints pop more every day and I am slowly wearing my ‘cheater’ glasses to see with instead of just to read with. I kept thinking this was a temporary illness and all would be better soon, but I’m beginning to think it’s not.
Secondly, my grandchildren are growing up. They are doing things that I remember their mother doing yesterday – at least it seems like yesterday. Maren has just outgrown her first car seat and Brynna just had her photograph taken in a shot similar to one her mom had made at about the same age – 25 years ago (Jessi cooperated better!).
Third of all, my baby is 17. His age doesn’t bother me as much as where he is in life. Starting first grade didn't bother me at all - when he started middle school, I cried like a baby all the way to work. Getting his driver’s license was a relief since I didn’t have to get up early in the morning to get him to school. Ordering his class ring was a time of stress – how to pay for it (they have really gone up since I purchased mine back in 1977!) and would he really graduate the same year as what we were putting on the ring (it seems that he will). But what is making me feel really feel old is the little things – going to the prom and staying out all night. Deciding who, where and when he will take his senior photos. The college flyers that are starting to fill our mailbox. The fact that he can (and does) fix my car. Legally he can now hunt alone. He kisses his girlfriend in front of me.
I used to think that I would be old in the year 2000, then my definition of old changed to 50. Now I see that it’s not a number, it’s the little things in life that make you old. So, I guess from now on, when asked my age I will have to admit the truth.............39.