The other night, I was starting to drift off to sleep, and for some reason, the thought popped into my head, that Maya is going to be a teenager soon. 13, on March 29th. Not that I haven’t realized this for awhile, but still, somehow, the idea that she is going to be 13 suddenly made me feel OLD. I mean, the teen years…who doesn’t remember the teen years? Some of the best and the worst in your life, with friendships that change, young love that opens your heart like a flower and crushes you at the same time, cruel jests from bullies, school getting harder when it has always seemed so easy, parents suddenly seeming out of touch. Friendships that last and stick with you forever, teachers that touch you with fresh ideas of humanity and strength, parents trying to stay an important part of your life, sometimes connecting…and mostly what I feel like is the out of touch parent. What? How did that happen? I’ll tell you, it woke me right up to realize that when I was 13, my mom was only 36. When my mom was 43, I was 20. Doesn’t matter, but still, it makes me feel old to be the parent of a teen. Even though I’m older than my mom was when I was a teen.
Doesn’t help that my health exams now include mammograms, mole checks, cholesterol and blood pressure checks, no longer really viable for having more kids (not that I want to), watch your weight, cardio, lift weights for bone density, on and on and on. How is it that I feel 22, and I’m actually 43. The difference between how I feel and my actual age is an adult, old enough to order their own martini. It’s crazy. And I’m in pretty darned good health.
These are the thoughts that kept me awake the other night, trying to drift off to sleep. I finally did. I’m not that old. But old enough.