My daughter asked me this week how old I was and without thinking I answered 34. My Beloved husband laughed and corrected me, reminding me that I was actually 36 and would be 37 this year, which he gleefully told me was tiptoeing up on 40.

Once I did the math in my head and realized he was right, I thought, “oh, no – I’d better start taking better care of my skin and I should probably make sure I’m getting enough Calcium every day and when in the world do you get a baseline mammogram?!”

Honestly. That’s what I thought.

When in the world did I go from a twenty-something to a second half of thirty-something? It’s truly not that I mind tiptoeing up on 40, but that sounds like a grown up number and I just don’t feel that age. We did have children later than many of our peers, and it’s not until recently that we had a permanent job and a house and two kids and a dog. Before that we were gypsies and students for far longer than the average couple. So is that why I’m so surprised to realize I’m this age?

I am happy that I’m in a good place at this age in my life, and can imagine very few things I would change about the last 15 years. Beloved and I have had a wonderful life together and besides, he’s stuck with me until waaaay past 40, so there.

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