It’s official: I’m an old lady

I

have no idea how it happened, but my four-year-old granddaughter told me so. We were walking together when she commented, “I walk fast, and you walk slow, because you’re an old lady.”

(I love you, too, gorgeous!)

Now to clarify. I walk, I swim, I pound the treadmill and do the Hoola Hoop. I hold two full-time jobs and occasionally do supervision in the fertility labs. I host. I make sourdough. I can think of a plethora of adjectives to describe myself, but old is not one of them.

You’ve got the wrong person.

Except, somehow without my knowledge or consent, “old” has become the new me.

The gratitude is endless, the possibilities boundless, the joy infinite — and the aches and pains ceaseless.