I've actually been wondering that on and off for about the last four months. Dumb, but true. Since realizing that I really had no idea what number to throw out when asked how old I am ("Something that starts with a 3?"). I've just been too lazy and too busy to worry about doing the math. It's kind of been a joke in my head. You know, "You want me to do what? I don't even know how old I am. Are you sure you trust me?" And really there isn't any changing it anyway.
So the other night my husband and I were discussing his upcoming birthday. And he says something like, "Yea, 31 this year."
Ummm . . . honey, let's do the math. But I don't think you are 30.
Turns out he was off by 2 years. Two whole years. He's going to be 33. "How did
that happen?" he asks me.
Shoot, I don't know. We had kids? We're busy? We really don't care how old we are? (He claims we
just got the vacuum that is 11 years old and broke last week--finally, after threatening for about the last two years.)
Apparently this age thing is bothering him. He brought it up again today, out of the blue. "So I'm going to be 33, and you are going to be 34 at the end of the year?"
Yup. (About as sympathetic as I can get these days.)
And Grace is going to be 5?
Yup. And in a couple weeks, we're going to have another baby.
Oh yea.
Yea. We need to get ready for that.
Yup. But right now I can only accomplish anything that can be done from the waist up. Pregnant tummies get in the way you know. Can an old man like you help me out?
Are you sure you trust me with that? I don't even know how old I am.