Age is Just a Number, Right?
It’s officially my Month O’ Birthday. Some people only get one day, but my dad used to joke that I milked it for a full month. There’s some truth in that.
Birthdays are like periods. You may not like to see them, but you’re in trouble if you don’t.
I was talking to someone today that has the same birthday as me. She’s very mature, completely organized, has salt and pepper hair. I was being polite and said, “are you pre-1971 or post?”, which was my not-so-cute way of asking if she was older than me. I thought she would say very “Pre”, but it turned out she was post 1971, born in 1972. I almost fainted.
First of all, I’m a terrible judge of anyone’s age. Second, I couldn’t believe she was younger than me. Good heavens, do I look that old? Not that she looks really old, but she just seems so much more mature than I am. Like she has her life all together and I’m still living like a college student (if that college student had three sponges living off of them).
I still feel mentally like I’m in my 20’s. I can’t believe I’m going to be enjoying the last year of my 30’s. It’s surreal. The word of the month is going to be “surreal”. Maybe my mentality stunted at 22 when I got married too young. Or at 24 when I had the first of my three daughters. Looking back, it sounds so young to me. Don’t get me wrong, if I was going to have kids, I am glad I had them in my 20’s.
The question is, how did I get so old so fast? And how do I tell my middle daughter, too anxious to grow up, that it will get here soon enough and be over before she knows it? I guess she’ll have to experience it herself, just like I did. But as I think of the 8 years left before my life really starts, I realize I’m going to be 47. And I know that it will be here before I know it.