37?

When do you think it is in life when we begin to feel our age? I don't mean act our age -- goodness, I've acted older than my age in some ways forever and significantly younger in others. No, I mean feel our age as in "I feel like I am 37."

I've always looked younger than I actually am, which I realize now is a fabulous gift from God. (It didn't feel so fabulous when I was 18 spending the summer in Europe with my 16 year old sister and I kept getting asked how much older than me she was. Grrr.) On Saturday, I ran an errand with the children in my usual mom-uniform of jeans, a Life is Good t-shirt, and ball cap with required pony-tail sticking out the back and as I was checking out at Target, the cashier asked me how long I had been a nanny.

I glanced at her in surprise and said I hadn't been a nanny since college, more than 15 years ago. This was followed by the statement: "You don't look old enough to have one child, let alone all these!" I assured her I was in fact 37 and that yes, they were all mine. We laughed together, I thanked her for the compliment, Shelby made a couple of smarty-pants remarks about being seen with a nanny, and we headed home to the rest of our day.

But it keeps coming back to me. When my Grandfather Ballenger was in his 70's, I remember him sharing that sometimes the thing that frustrated him the most was that he was still 17 stuck in some old man's body. I think I was about 15 at the time, so I really didn't get it. I just made some random comment (I'm sure it was something intelligent like, "Uhhhhh . . . interesting, Grandpa") and went back to my oh-so-important teenaged life.

Now, though, I get it.

Only I'm not 17. Instead I feel like I'm forever 20, which is when I met Scott. I cringe at the thought of going back to the sheer ignorance of life I had a 20, but I feel 20. When I get up in the morning and the arthritis in my left foot aches, I am always surprised. Isn't arthritis supposed to be an old-lady thing? I'm not old, I'm 20! And then reality swoops back in and I realize I am almost twice that. That I have the life of a 37 year-old including the responsibilities and life-cares of someone who is 37.

So, when will I actually feel my age? Will there ever come a time when I say, "Nah, I'm not interested because I'm just too dang old."

Or am I destined to wake up each morning a little stunned at the age I feel in my bones but not in my mind?

I don't mind getting older. The wrinkles around my eyes when I grin don't bother me. The puckers above my nose when I'm concentrating don't bother me. The grey hair mixed in with the darker brown doesn't bother me. (My natural highlights are a thing of the past since I quit going outside without hats to avoid the cancer-inducing sun rays on my face. Stupid nursing school.) I like feeling more comfortable with me than I did at 20. So why is it my mind can't seem to catch up with time?

I have a feeling that this isn't a puzzle I will figure out any time soon. I wish Grandpa were still around so I could ask him some questions about his 17 year-old self. I would love to know why he stopped aging at 17 instead of 16 or 18. What precisely made 17 his forever age?

And so, I will go asleep tonight knowing in my head I am indeed 37 years old. And yet, I will awaken in the morning, throw my feet over the edge of the bed, stand up and pause for just a moment, trying to figure our why on earth my foot aches. And then it will all come rushing back to me. Ahh, that's right. I'm 37.

And for anyone wondering what exactly caused my left foot pain, I confess it is an old band injury. Yep - super nerd. No Boston Marathon injuries here. I caused irreparable damage to my left foot by marching on sprained ankles.

For the record, the podiatrist said I am his first band-injury. That's gotta' count for something.