Age is really just a number.

I’m not the kind of person who frets about my age. However, on occasion my age does give me a little shock when I think about exactly how many years I’ve been alive.

Today is one of those days. Today’s my birthday.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m really NOT old. I don’t have that many wrinkles yet, and I have yet to find a gray hair in the mirror. With that said, I think I still picture myself being 25. That is until I find myself in a room of 25 year olds and I realize I’m NOT 25 anymore.

I don’t really want to be 25 again, but that’s where my life kind of settled into a comfortable groove, it feels like time has kind of stood still since then. But time doesn’t work that way. Even though it feels like time is frozen, it just keeps on ticking. Tick tock, tick tock.

A day turns into a month, a month into a year, and then here I am today wondering, “How is this possible that I can be getting older? How can I have kids this old? How can all of my friends me this old?”

I had a conversation with my daughter that reminded me that it’s been years since I’ve counted my birthdays on ten fingers.

“Mom, how old are you?” she asked.

“33,” I answered.

“Wow!” That’s a BIG number,” she replied. “Don’t feel bad that you’re old. There’s a girl in my class whose mom is really old.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “How old is she?”

“She’s 40!!” she exclaimed. “Then she went on to say that someone else had a Dad who was 50. She followed that up by saying, “That’s like almost old enough to be dead.”

I guess I better brace myself for more of these types of conversations because I remember thinking 40 sounded old only a few years ago. Now as the number 30 is getting farther off in the distance and 40 is coming into better view I can see how this all happens and time slips through your fingers.