It seems that more and more frequently I am faced with things that make me realize just how fast my youth has gotten away from me. Sure, there are the every day things that I recognize and acknowledge as being a part of my new, slightly aged being: laugh lines that linger, a metabolism that has slowed (to the pace of a damn slug!), aching joints and the realization that trampolines are my enemy (ask any woman who’s ever birthed a child).
Despite the physical deterioration though, I’ve maintained some illusion of youthfulness. I think it may have to do with my interests and zest for life. In my mind I am still a vibrant, exciting, fun-loving, adventurous, youthful girl.
And then, yesterday, something happened that brought that delusion to a crushing end. One of my best friend’s daughter–a little girl that I helped welcome into the world, who I helped to teach walk, who I baby sat and read stories to, and cuddled, and loved with every ounce of my being–turned 21 and I was stunned.
“How the hell could this happen?” I asked my husband. “How can she be 21?”
To which my husband responded, “You do realize that next week you’re going to be the mother of a teenager don’t you?”
And one more delusion went up in a thousand flames that burned with the heat of a thousand hells.
