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Just How Old Am I?

You’re only as old as you feel.

Age is just a number.

Yeah whatever. How old am I? I don’t know. I’m definitely not in my twenties even though my brain goes there every time I’m asked my age. Twent… I mean thirty-something.

These days I’m much more than a thirty-something. More than just a number. Just how old am I?

I’m at the age that whenever I sneeze, I definitely pee a little.

I’m old enough to know what a vagina exercise is; a kegel of course. I’m also old enough to need to do kegel exercises to help stop the sneeze-pee phenomenon. Though to my defense, I’m pretty sure that shit is a hoax.

I’m too old to run around my grass doing cartwheels and handstands without extreme suffering the next day.

When I fall, it’s not graceful at all. I’m too old to fall nicely. I fall in slow motion and nothing I do or anyone else around can help me. And I fall under the most random circumstances like falling up the stairs on a daily basis.

I’m old enough to be looking in the mirror at my mousy brown hair and see a strand of shimmering silver. Looking close up, I notice my blonde peach fuzz over my lip is definitely getting a wee bit darker. I’m at the age when I think it’s almost time to wax that MoFo.

I’m old enough to have a mole with hair sticking out of it! Oh my God, that one almost put me over the edge!

I’m at the age where being carded for booze is a blessing however being carded for a rated R movie is an insult. Seriously people, I’m with two kids, a wedding ring, and bags the size of Alaska – I’m definitely older than 17. Hand over the DVD now, bitch.

I’m at the age that when I eat a little chocolate, my chin resembles that of a pizza face, zit ridden teenager.

PMS is a legit thing at my age. Stay the fuck away from me and my sweets. If I’m going to have a pizza face, let me at least enjoy the damn sugar.

Now that I’ve got kids, when I’m ovulating, it’s pretty much a 2nd period each month. I’m old enough for my body to remind me every month that my biological clock is ticking and my body is telling me to get pregnant now dammit!

I’m old enough to be considered an adult but I’m always looking for a more adult-like adult. You know, an adult who doesn’t wear Little Mermaid shirts and Elsa pajamas.

I’m at the age when all my money goes to the house and the kids. The old “buying a new purse and new shoes” every season ritual has gone straight to hell. In fact, my one and only purse/diaper bag/laptop bag has been around a few years and better last. Extracurricular activities and toilet paper are expensive!

I’m old enough to know that granny panties are the only possibility right now. There is no way I can get regular, sexy underwear over this saggy stomach. Not going to happen. I’m also old enough to be over it.

I’m at the age where I understand it’s frowned upon to drink during the day and also at the age to not give a flying fuck and drink whenever I want.

I’m finally old enough to truly understand the whole “you have one life to live” catch-phrase.

I’m finally old enough to comprehend this immensely profound and amazing Dr. Suess quote. And if I don’t matter to someone they aren’t worth worrying about anymore.

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

I’m old enough. But I’m not old. Yet…

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