It's Official. I'm Old.

Confession: I'm 41 years old.

But in my mind, I'm somewhere in the 16 - 20 range.

I can go to the grocery store, walk out with several bags of groceries that I paid for with a piece of plastic, and marvel that they let me do it. I feel like I've gotten away with something.

I look at these little mini-me's, and cannot believe that God thinks I am responsible enough to raise them. That anyone thinks I'm responsible enough to raise them. I can't keep a plant alive for a month, much less children for 20+ years.

I remember what my sister said about the moment she realized she was old. I was driving my car to the mechanic's, and she was following behind me to bring me home. She said that when she looked through her windshield at me, be-bopping along to some music on the cassette player (her words, not mine) she decided that she was old. If she was in sixth grade when I was born ... and I was now driving my own car ... that would make her ... oh, never mind. In her mind, she was old.

That moment just hit me on Friday.

I went to the dentist for a crown.

It was the first sign to me that my body was betraying me. Breaking down.

I mean, I've had medical issues before. In fact, I had a stroke two years ago. But the doctors kept saying how abnormal it was for me to have a stroke, how young women my age just don't have strokes. Heck, they brought residents around to observe me. So every time I heard a doctor say, "You're too young!" it just reinforced my belief that I couldn't possibly be getting old.

Then I broke a tooth. Not from an accident or injury or even a particularly sticky caramel. Just plain old wear and tear (and quite a bit of nighttime grinding, I've been told).

Wear and tear. The stuff that's not covered by a warranty or insurance. The stuff that just happens as a result of years of use and the passage of time. It happens to old things.

So what's next, huh? A new hip or knee? Should I toss out my Lucky Charms and replace them with Grape Nuts? (Or maybe not. I've already got one crown.) And perhaps I should drink my OJ with a shot of Metamucil.

Crap. I am getting old.

Pass the bran muffins.

Finish Well.