If you know me, you may know that numbers have never really been my thing. I blame genetics and my mean first grade teacher who stressed me out with timed math facts tests, but that is another story. Anyway... numbers, I realize are an important part of our world. I have the utmost respect for mathemeticians, math teachers, statisticians, finance gurus, etc, but I have personally chosen to tune numbers out of my world whenever possible. I realize what a luxury this is since I have a husband who is very good with finance and figures. Please don't sic Suze Ormond on me.
Anyway...back to the convoulted original point of this story. Numbers hold little meaning for me. My husband has always been completely amused by the fact that I never seem to know how old I am. Once I hit 21, there seemed little point in keeping track any longer. My age started to seem slightly important again when I contemplated another pregnancy since all of the medical world has us women convinced we are best off birthing our babies before the age of 35. Back at Christmastime when I started to feel all broody, it occured to me that I am going to be 34 this summer, so I had better get cracking if we were going to have another baby. This came up when I discussed the subject with my husband. Obviously we felt compelled to "crack away" and got pregnant in January.... Are you still with me??
Anyway, last night in an effort to put off bedtime, Emma came and sat at my bedside and started telling me what a brilliant mom I am. Then the conversation somehow turned to, "How old are you, Mom, and how old is Dad?" Well, of course, I am going to be 34 this summer, so that means... Dad is six years older than me...he is going to be...40!?? Wait, no, that can't be right. My husband isn't about to be 40! I quickly calculated 2009-1970...
He really isn't about to be 40. He is going to be 39, and I am going to be 33...and that jerk never corrected me all those times I spoke about how old I thought I was. GEORGE!!! I found myself quite annoyed... as annoyed as one can be with her husband when he is folding everyone's laundry. "I wondered when you'd figure it out," was all he had to say for himself after allowing me to go on for months thinking I was a year older than I actually am. Seriously, you know this is wrong, and don't even side with him by saying that it's ridiculous that I don't know my own age. It's all part of my charm. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
1 comment:
Very amusing! You had me at "crack away".
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