The big THREE-5

I have enjoyed getting older. I enjoyed turning 21! Yeah legal drinking! I enjoyed turning 25 and reaping the benefits of cheaper car insurance. I even enjoyed turning 30, 31, 32, 33, and 34. But now I am turning the big THREE-5 and suddenly I am freaking out. 

Its not that I am sitting in front of the mirror, stretching the skin around my eyes and pondering the benefits of plastic surgery.  I am proud of my age. I deserve to carry every wrinkly on my face, grey hair on my head, and mark on my body with pride. Besides who has time to ponder such things when you are having a mid life crisis or rather married with a job and two kids. 

I think this line of thinking surfaced when I had a conversation with Casi. She is beautiful, intelligent and can hold her own when discussing everything from politics to clothes. I love the conversations we have. Yet, these conversations made me realize her age and then in return my own.

Ive heard the warnings. The connection between a mothers age and her child. I would guess from my own mom. It was inevitable. Certain to happen to me too. That one day, casi's age would make me feel, well old.