This week, I have been looking in the mirror at that piece of skin above my eye, noticing how it droops where it never did before.
Is this what aging means? I think to myself as I pluck yet another hair from my chin that doesn't belong there.
I remember Nanny, sitting at her kitchen table and holding her hands out before the young me. She would take my hand in hers, and pluck the skin from the top, watching it spring quickly back into place. Then, she would take her hand and do the same, noting that it slowly took it's place on the back of her hand, as if in slow motion. Definitely not in a hurry.
"That is what happens when you get old." She'd tell me.
I wonder if my eyelid would spring back into shape if I tried the same trick on it?
The other day my friend and I were walking. Talking, walking, talking, walking. The subject came upon birthdays and it took me, I kid you not, a long time to remember my age.
How old am I? I thought.
Seems I've almost gone a full year thinking I was still 35. Um, with my 37th birthday coming up in April, one can see how this is not a good thing. It's like I've lost an entire year. A year! That is not a good thing. And for some reason, 37 seems really, really, really old. Not geriatric old, just plain old. 36 seems fine. 37 seems too close to 40 - and I'm not digging it one bit.
You wouldn't either if you'd lost an entire year!
In a few weeks, my baby will be 13.
I think, perhaps, I'm having an I-couldn't-possibly-be-the-mother-of-a-teenager crisis.