L'Oréal 7 1/2a

On my husband's side of the family, mothers in their forties birthing children isn't uncommon. In fact, four of us over forty had children within years of each other. I won't say that there aren't moments when I contemplate the adult moments I could be having with two teenaged daughters, but never would I give back the amusement and joy that a young child brings. Does it keep me looking young? No, my religiously applied haircolor does that. Thus far, I've not been assumed to be the grandmother by young, first time moms. Good thing, too, for I'd probably have to deck anyone making such an obvious error.

I nearly bit my menu in two last week when at a restaurant, the waiter referred to me as "young lady". It was such a blatant reference to my age, as in "we all know you are older than the hills but I'm going to treat you nice like you are really only twenty". No one has ever done this before, and I wanted to slap his stupid little earring'ed head, but to do so would have been to have admitted that I knew that he was really calling me old.

Some days, like right now, when I want to be finishing this blog and Wm is calling from the other room for me to change the channel and can he have more to eat, those days I feel cranky and old. Then other times, he'll ask questions that amuse me and keep my mind young:

"Do fish communicate under water?"
"Which is more powerful, an earthdroid [asteroid] or a meteorite or a comet?"
"Where does the sun go at night?"

I type all these cute things as I yell at him to just give me TEN more minutes, just a moment to finish this blog. ARggg...I'm old again.