Typically, math is not a topic I invest much time on. Sometimes it just shows up.
Twenty minutes ago I caught myself mathing.
Because I feel fucking old.
My mom got old. She never felt old.
My dad got old. He never felt anything but.
I’ve turned into my dad.
I am 55.
I feel 86.
When my mom was 55, I was 20.
On this date during that year I was 35 weeks pregnant.
My mom had six children and nine grandchildren (almost ten) then.
Actually, she had ten grandchildren (almost eleven) but we didn’t know about Christopher yet.
She’d have been excited about Christopher.
She liked surprises.
She liked parties. Dancing. Getting out of the house and getting the stink blown off. Driving to Oregon by herself.
I can’t remember the last time I went in my own backyard.
20. 35. 55. 86.
The baby will be 35 on his next birthday. The same age my mom was when I was born.
Math makes my heart hurt.
Barefoot Iowa 