I don’t know why as a parent or as a dog owner I even bother to own any seating options in my home because I swear to you, every single time I attempt to sit down, Isabella needs me to inspect her sleeping foot and reach her a band-aid (seriously?!) or Indiana needs to go out. But needs is sort of a stretch here, since he’s going through this extreme snow-eating stage right now and he’s happily frolic in the snow for minutes on end with no desire to come in and allow me to sit my tired and unable-to-get-warm, old-lady bones down on a couch. Or in a chair. Or even on a stool.
My weary legs and achy knees aren’t all that picky.
That’s a new thing I’ve noticed lately. The knees.
35.5 years old is an interesting age to be. On the one hand, I have absolutely loved my thirties. In my twenties I worried — too much — about how others would perceive my choices, even down to what I wore and what I ordered off of a lunch menu. When I hit thirty, I chose to be ME, even if it meant that someone wasn’t going to like my sleeveless arms or the fact that I ordered a dessert (or two…gasp!) at lunchtime.
The 30s have been such a liberating time for me.
And yet. Here I am trapped in a body that seems to be falling apart a little bit. I have this exciting new condition called Sahara-dry skin (oh it’s a thing) and have had to use some sort of moisturizer cocktail to ensure that I don’t scratch my face off on a daily basis. And yet, once a month, like clockwork, I get a massive zit in the exact same spot on my face to keep me humble. My smile lines stay put when I am no longer smiling, which means I’m reconsidering bangs since I’m much more comfortable with haircutting than injecting toxins into my face. My hair is thinning, my teeth are literally crumbling (like those nightmares I have been having since I was a kid), and I have had to change my font size to 125% in Microsoft Word.
And don’t get me started on what’s happening with this cosmic-bowling Donna Martin cave cleavage because there’s no explanation for this.
And now my knees are starting to hurt when I lift things and when I climb stairs so that’s fun.
Tonight I finally got a chance to sit down since Isabella’s foot that fell asleep was properly band-aid-ed up and Indiana finally realized that it was -133 degrees outside and came in to get warm.
So yes, I finally sit down and began to complain about my aching knees.
But then Josh brought me this. His homework.
And then I stopped complaining.
Because I’m old and carrying more body fat and I have crow’s feet and thinner hair and poorer eyesight and dry skin and zits and you know what?
My 11-year-old son sure doesn’t.
He thinks I’m beautiful.
Even if he never lets me sit down.