I knew I was old when…

I knew I was old when I stopped recognizing the celebrities on the cover of Us Weekly. The name for the magazine should be Your Weekly Reminder That You Are Old.

I knew I was old when I recently plucked my first gray hair… from my eyebrow. At that point, I realized I’d been coloring my hair for so long, who knows how many gray hairs I have on my head.

I knew I was old when Nate Dogg died and my younger co-worker didn’t know who Nate Dogg was.

I knew I was old when I made a Wayne’s World reference (“Hi. I’m in Delaware.”) and my other young co-worker didn’t get it. Then I realized that movie came out when she was three.

I knew I was old when I stopped liking new music. Seriously, who writes this shit? The only stations I really like on satellite radio anymore are “90’s on 9” and “Backspin.” (Oh. Meh. Geh. I sound just like my mother.)

I knew I was old when I noticed that every teenage boy’s haircut looks ridiculous.

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I knew I was old when I refused to listen to Justin Bieber (speaking of bad hair) just on principle. No one that young should make that kind of money. Plus, the kid can’t sing. At all. (Now I must go apologize to my mother for the years of New Kids of the Block I made her suffer through.)

I knew I was old when I balked at what teenage girls are wearing these days. When did bra straps become accessories? That’s just skanky. I spend my whole life trying to keep mine from showing and these girls purposely walk around with bright blue bra straps poking out from under white tank tops. Our teachers would have sent us home from school if we had dared to walk in like that – assuming our mothers didn’t see us first and make us change before we left the house. 

I knew I was old when guys (of all ages) stopped checking me out. I swear, I haven’t had more than a passing glance in, like, five years. 

I knew I was old when a twenty-eight year-old woman told me that she needed to hurry up and have kids because she wasn’t getting any younger. Uhhh, hello?

I knew I was old when I started making grunting noises every time I got up off the floor, which is all the damn time now that we have a baby.

I knew I was old when the bags under my eyes could no longer be concealed with make-up and instead looked worse. (Of course, that might be due to sleep deprivation and motherhood in general rather than age. I’d love to test this theory, but that would require at least two nights of decent sleep in a row, and that doesn’t seem likely at this point.)

But then, just when I start to feel older than dirt, my son makes me feel young again. Seeing the world through his eyes, everything looks brand new and amazing. (Yes, Quinn, that’s a picture on the wall… Yes, you can pet the doggie… Yes, that’s the moon…) And I’m seeing that picture and a dog and the moon for the first time, too. I see Q’s eyes light up, and mine light up, too.

And there’s nothing like a rollicking game of “I’m Going to Get You” to get your blood pumping. Quinn laughs hysterically as he crawls away from me as fast as he can, and I chase him on my hands in knees around the house. I finally catch him and we both collapse on the floor in a fit of giggles. Then he’s up, and we’re off again.

Who cares that I’m a little winded afterward? 


When did you feel old for the first time?