Changing times

When I was 16, I started finding grey hairs. I freaked. I completely freaked out that I would be one of those people who grayed prematurely and would be in my early 20's, completely grey. Then, the hairs stopped coming in white.

Every once in awhile, I would find one here and there. It always bothered me, up until I was about 26 or so. Then, I decided that I would be one of the few, the ones who wore my wrinkles and grey hairs proudly, because it's a sign that I have lived. I earned each white hair and each wrinkle, and I would be damned if I paid someone to "wash that grey right out of my hair" or plump up my face with paralyzing chemicals.

The grey hairs stopped coming in.

The wrinkles, especially my laugh lines, have become a bit deeper, but nothing major. It's upon really close examination that I can see the crows feet around my eyes, unless I'm smiling. They don't bother me.

This morning, I found three grey hairs in one area of my head.

And the realization came that this was the time in life where those things started coming in regularly.

And for a split second, I panicked. It was a very short, very intense panic. Not because of vanity. Not because of some feeling that I had to look a certain way to be appealing to society at large.

It was a glimps of my own mortality.

In fact, I love grey hair. I love it in my friends, in my parents, and most of all, in Steve. It proves that we are adults and we have lived. There are so many times when I forget that I've lived. It sounds funny, but I do.

And now I have proof. I have three strands to prove it. And they'll just keep coming in.

And that eternal feeling that I've still got my high school body is gone. It was the final realization that I needed. I've known that my belly is not the size it used to be, and it took me awhile to be okay with that. And it only looked that way because of intense, daily conditioning in a gym and playing multiple sports daily. But deep down in my mind I thought I still looked like I used to.

This is a very nice reminder that my body has caught up with my mind and is changing, growing and becoming older.

I remember being 10 and thinking that 30 was so old. I mean, my mom was 31 at that time, and that was just OLD. Being 30 meant you had babies, you had a husband, a job, a house and no more fun. I never thought someone could be 30 and still have fun, or friends, or anything but responsibility. I'm glad that is wrong.

I'll be 38 when Olivia turns 15. I'll be OLD to her. Because at 15, everything over 25 is OLD.

But I still feel like a kid in so many ways, and I think the majority of our friends feel the same way. Moments where I know I'm an adult, getting married being a huge one, feel odd to me. Is this how we are supposed to feel? Does my mamaw still feel like a teenager sometimes? Do my parents? Do my friends feel the same? Or is this some kind of arrested development and some part of my brain is refusing to feel my age? But what should someone feel when feeling their age? Pains in the morning? Stiff joints not due to some injury? I don't even know that I will feel more like an adult when we have a child, considering children make me feel all the more young when I'm around them.

Or maybe it's the day to day caring for them that makes you feel your age.

These are all things that someone needs to write a book about. Maybe me. I can't think I'm the only one who feels this way.

Maybe, when I start to think this way, I should remember this very important piece of information.......there is nothing quite as fun as running through a sprinkler when you are young. But you know you are old when you would much rather wander through a sprinkler. Mosey. Stroll. Because running is reserved for when you are being chased. With a knife. In a dark alley. Because otherwise, your joints ache. And you left the Ben-Gay at home.