You know, I used to say things like “I don’t feel 35,” or “Even though I’m 38, my life hasn’t changed that much since my late 20s.” I had an illusion of continuity, of age not being much more than a number.
But right now—in a room at a Marriott in Tampa that My Colleague’s work paid for, getting photos of Test Subject V from her grandmother, putting on some workout clothes and downloading a potty training book to listen to while I’m in the hotel fitness center…
I really feel 40.
Children age you. It’s weird because you don’t even notice it until you’re so far gone that you can’t even figure out how the change happened.
And because I know people are here more for V than for me, here’s an image of her at the same place My Colleague and I got married, yelling at some ducks today:
