Middle Ages

“Mommy! You’re Middle Aged!” screamed my daughter for no apparent reason.

There I was, enjoying a perfectly fine day when suddenly: “mommy…..you’re MIDDLE AGED.” WTF?

Turns out, my daughter, bless her firm little buttocks, was simply reading from a Leap Frog book about the Human Body.  And according to the Frog, I am middle aged.  Well of course I am, but do people need to be telling my child this?  Now, she’s doing the math to figure out how old I’ll be when I die.  

If I’m middle aged at 43, and 43+43=86, well, then, I’ll be dead at 86, she reasoned. And by that time she’d be….well, that math was a little hard for her, but she came up with it: 51.  

“Fifty-one!!!”  She cried. “But that’s so young!  You’re going to die when I’m only 51?”  Amazing, isn’t it, that at 43, I’ middle aged, but at 51, she’s too young to lose a parent. 

To reassure her, I told her that  I think the equation goes more like this:

43 +( twins – baby nurse) + (marriage /housework) x  breastfeeding two babies

-1 bunion + 1 aerobics class x  2 year over-priced gym membership + no carbs (well almost no carbs) = 97.  

Yup, I’m going to live until I’m 97.  Yipee.

Hey, if 40 is the new thirty, and 80 is the new sixty, I’ll actually be getting younger every year.  Gotta love new math.

And gotta remember to get rid of that Leap Pad.

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