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?
When did you feel old for the first time?