I had a realization in the middle of last night that Dave and I are beginning to settle pretty firmly into middle age.
It wasn’t a dream, or our kids calling us old, or anything like that. I was awoken around 1:00 a.m. by Dave, asking if we had any Tums. I sent him to the cabinet where we keep them, asked him for one for myself (apparently, at our age, chili for dinner – even when I make it without beans – is no longer a good idea), and then I got up to go to the bathroom.
The past few nights, we’ve had that awesome cool fall weather at night, and I was oh-so-comfy when I woke up, curled up in my long sleeves and pants. But once I returned from the bathroom a mere 90 seconds later, I got warm. I loosened the covers. Then I got up and changed into a t-shirt. Then I got hot. Then I got up and changed into shorts. Then I pulled the covers off.
I think you know what I’m getting at here.
For some reason, I started thinking then about when Dave and I were dating, and we could stay up past midnight. I didn’t sweat in my jammies, and we didn’t wake up with heartburn. I’m fairly certain we could also tolerate chili.
That said, though, I wouldn’t trade this phase of my life for a stronger stomach, or a flatter stomach, or a good night’s sleep. I love my life and my family. I love that Dave wakes up in the morning and has to walk down the steps with two feet at a time, like a toddler, until he stretches out a little. I love that I’ve started to stash reading glasses in my purse and on every level of the house, because a little extra light just isn’t cutting it anymore. I love that three years ago on my birthday, Michael (who’d just turned 5 at the time), said to me, “It’s funny that you’re 43. You really look 44.”
I love that when we DO wake up in the middle of the night, that Dave’s there to laugh with me about problems that, in the scheme of things, we’re lucky to have.
So, okay, I could kind of do without what’s starting to look like weird wrinkles on my neck, but whatever.