Well, I am 26 years old. To be honest, I’ve never had a birthday before where I said, “Hey, I am getting old!” I mean, I remember when I was in high school. Twenty-one year olds were cool. twenty-four year olds were cool but the 26 year olds, well, they were getting kinda out of touch. And I know that I am getting out of touch. I mean, I don’t get high schoolers. Guys shaving their chests and wearing women’s pants because “they fit better”. Girls going out with said guys. I don’t understand. I told myself when I was in high school that I would never forget what it was like to be young. And I haven’t. But the way that I was young is so different from the way that they are young. I am not saying they are wrong, just different. I don’t understand it. I don’t empathize. I don’t even know where to begin. <SIGH>
And then there is my beautiful THREE year old daughter. I can’t believe she’s 3. How did that happen? I remember when she was born (of course I remember but I remember it like it was yesterday). I was going through baby clothes yesterday (am getting rid of two big boxes–aren’t you all proud of me?) and I held up this little footed pajamas. The 100% cotton, white with green and yellow frogs and duckies on it. Super soft, Carter’s. And I held it in my arms and remember how she felt in my arms when she fit into them. I was almost getting teary when said daughter began to “help” me sort the clothing. And then due to husband-absence-not-enough-sleep-induced impatience, the moment was gone.
But it’s back. I am holding this wonderful little girl on my lap and I wonder where all the time has gone. I begin to question myself and everything. Are we strict enough with her? Do we discipline correctly? Are we too strict? Am I spending enough time training and teaching her? Am I too selfish? Is my marriage a good example to her? Am I a good example to her? Will she make the same mistakes I made? Will I be able to deal with the new ones she makes?
But, on the less pensive side, we have a beautiful home, soon to be left for new adventures. We have a soon to be large cat who is usually lots of fun. I have new and old friends. I made two great cakes (daughter wanted white and I (surprise) wanted chocolate). My husband has a good job that is paying for our nomadic natures. Life is good. I am getting old but life is good.
Oh, and I know I am not really getting old. As my wise, elderly (he he he he) parents are fond of saying, “You aren’t old until you can’t have fun any more.” And by that ruler, I am nowhere near being old.