Sometimes I wonder where time went. It seems like it was just last week I was grabbing my backpack, scrambling for a lost notebook, and sprinting across campus to a class I was late for. Again. But really, that was years ago.
Husband and I have not quite hit middle age yet, but we’re already having the not-as-young-as-we-used-to-be feelings. He’s losing his hair and I’m starting to see the first faint line of wrinkles around my eyes. It’s not much, and I know those older than us will be rolling their eyes, but it’s enough to know we are changing. Our we-can-do-it-all teens and twenties are behind us.
After an evening of fun that lasted perhaps a little longer than usual, Husband started complaining about his back. He had arched it at some point, further than he should have, and for a day or two needed help putting his socks on. He couldn’t bend far enough to reach his feet.
He was sore for several days after. In fact, he’s still sore. At one point, he was trying to get up from lying on the couch and announced that he felt like a turtle. Because I’m a good wife and a nice person, I’ve been massaging his back and helping out when he needs help, but inside I was laughing. Hard.
And then I woke up this morning with a sore shoulder and pain running down my ribs. It had to do with me supporting my weight awkwardly during sex. All of the sudden it’s not so funny.