Did you ever have that moment when you are window shopping and you see a reflection of a pregnant woman and you think simultaneously “She’s so big! She’s so gorgeous!” only to discover that the reflection is you?
A similar, though entirely worse moment happened to me recently.
Brennyn has taken up waving. At everyone. Especially anyone on the TV. It is probably the cutest thing I have ever seen in my whole life. That clumsy open and shut of a chubby hand in front of a crooked smile of pure pride.
Wanting to encourage more, I wave back.
But something is wrong. Flashes of ‘old!’, ‘Oprah’, ‘flab’ and ‘Must. Stop. Perpetual. Motion.’ flash through my brain before catching on to what is happening.
I have stopped waving, but my under arm has not.
You read that right. I am 34 years old, do relentless reps of 22lbs and 36lbs weights (of the human variety) on a daily basis, and I have arm flab. That will not stop waving.
This has got to be the first sign of old age. Not gray hair nor tales starting with “Back in the day…” Arm flab. Why don’t people tell you these things? Why didn’t anybody warn me that one day I would give a two-stroke wave goodbye that would turn into a 4-5-6 stroke Bon Voyage? A heads up would have been appreciated elders. Or were you too busy trying to tame your getaway arm to fill me in?
Son of a ….