Growing Old Gracelessly

This afternoon I was reading documents on my computer and I realized I had to make the font bigger to read it. Is adjusting the font size our generation's version of those reading glasses you buy at the drugstore? I distinctly remember giving my mother grief when we went to a restaurant and she would have to move the menu up and back in front of her face to read it. We used to ask her if she wanted us to hold it across the table from her.

I don't know when exactly it happened, but at some point I stopped making fun of my parents for their "growing old" complaints.

It was probably around the time I realized I could no longer sit criss cross applesauce because my knee just didn't go that way anymore. Or maybe it was when I could no longer do a sit up without pulling an abdominal muscle.

I've been taking stock to see where I might be falling apart. There are good points and bad.

My hearing still seems intact. I can hear a bag of chocolate chips being opened at a hundred paces. Unfortunately, my metabolism won't let me actually consume them.

I can't smell the chocolate chips very well after my sinus surgery nearly three years ago. I don't get sinus infections anymore--a plus. I also can't really smell it very well if someone steps in dog poop--a huge plus.

I'm also find myself becoming more vain, but I'm trying to be very subtle about it. The other day we were getting ready to go skiing and I was putting on makeup. Those woman from Texas must be giving me a complex.

Eamonn: Are you putting on makeup before we go skiing?
Me: Um, yes.
Eamonn: Why?
Me: There's, um, sunscreen in it.
Eamonn: I thought you said we should all get more vitamin D by not wearing sunscreen sometimes.
Me: I did, I did, I absolutely did. big pause. . .There's a chance I'm getting a little vain in my old age. Just a little foundation. . .and maybe some powder. . .and some blush. I'm not wearing mascara though. (If you don't wear mascara, technically you're not wearing make up. That's my rule.)

Eamonn and I used to joke that when our kids left for college we'd have to hire someone to move them because we'd be too old to carry their stuff. For some reason I just can't shake that feeling.