My niece and her hubby welcomed their first child yesterday – a healthy baby boy.  Yes, that’s wonderful in and of itself, but the fun part is that it makes my sister a grandmother.  Let the mocking and teasing begin!  She’s only 2 years older than I am and since my daughter is only 10, I’m already thinking of snide, little sister digs.  Hey – what are little sisters for if not to mock mercilessly? 

Mocking aside, I’m actually a tad jealous.  My sister had her kids young and I, um, didn’t.  So she has an empty nest and a life while I’m driving car pool and attending dance recitals.  Assuming my daughter follows the household rule and doesn’t marry before she’s 30, I’ll be in my very late 60s.  There’s a sobering thought, eh????? 

So since getting the news about baby Josh’s arrival, I’ve been pondering. I don’t feel middle aged, but I am, unless 100 is an option and since I’ve watched my grandmother and several other family members live to that milestone, I find it really unattractive.  Why?  None of them made it with their faculties in tact.  I don’t really want to spend the final decade of my life sitting in a wheelchair at a nursing home staring at my crotch and drooling on myself. 

I was at a signing yesterday – thank you Altamonte Springs Barnes & Noble and CFRWA! – and in chatting with another author, we talked about how much time we have left to write.  Are we going to be 80 and sitting at our computers?  Will we want to? Or will we want to retire from this very competitive industry and just sit and enjoy a less stressful life?  Neither of us seemed to have an answer. 

I guess I’ll know when enough is enough . . . until then I’ll just have to content myself with the notion that my sister will be lugging around a Grandma’s Brag book . . .

*R

Rhonda, make your own rules.

I figure that since I plan to live to be 140, I'll be middle-aged at 70.

My father was 55 when I was born.

On the other hand, I had the extreme good luck to be with my older sister on the first time she was offered a senior discount! Bwahahahaha.

My mother lived to 92 and was alert until the day she died. On the other hand, my aunt died at the age of 100, but she'd lost her faculties several years before. Which one was better off? My mother, who knew
what was happening to her, or my aunt who was happily in la la land? As for quitting writing, that'll happen to all of us someday. As for me, I don't want to spend the majority of my remaining life sitting in front of a machine.