same kid, seven years later (photo credit - Elma Regnerus and Emily Pot)    

Maybe it's because I'm turning 45 this year - and I always thought 45 was old. Maybe it's because I was once again asked by a sales clerk about using my senior discount with my purchases. Maybe it's because sometimes my phone is easier to read when I take my glasses off. Whatever the case, lately, I feel old.

(Disclaimer: This is not to say being senior isn't great. I love seniors; I'm related to a lot of great seniors. I am just not ready to be that official of a grown up.)

I remember my mother-in-law telling me she looked forward to growing up but getting old was hard. Our bodies sag, stretch, and weaken in all the wrong places. My mother-in-law was right, as most MILs are.

Last week, I watched (and now recommend) the CBC doc The Caregivers Club. It's stories from relatives caring for someone with dementia. There were many familiar experiences in that doc, as I could relate as a caregiver of Rachel and Janneke. 

Sometimes, I wonder how long I will have the stamina and strength to properly and safely care for my girls. I wonder what our life will look like a few years from now when our older two are more independent - and Rachel and Janneke are just as dependent. Admittedly, I am envious when I see my peers and their neurotypical families. 

When the body aches bring heart aches, laughter is a must. The other day, when I was mistaken for a senior, I was sent a clip from the usually-too-edgy-for-me-but-this-one-was-quite-funny Baroness Von Sketch show. Never mind the gulping of wine, it's the laughter over the clerk's attempt to explain the wrinkles on the face. My favourite part is when the clerk gestures with the hand, "You can see the journey."

here's to joy in the journey,