Age is Just a Number

Last weekend, Husband went golfing while Little Miss and I had some time home together.  Our usual Sunday routine consists of Husband making pancakes and bacon with Little Miss.  So, she explained to him later that we didn't have pancake and bacon because I don't know how to make pancakes, and I'm not a grown up.  That was great for the ego. 

Then, later this week, she was bouncing around the apartment (literally).  Husband said he wished I had that much energy, and Little Miss said I couldn't because I was too old.  That was also great for the ego.

When we got engaged, Husband bought me a hope chest with my name carved in it.  We've always used it to store stuffed animals even before Little Miss was born.  So, she has since claimed it as hers.  She told us Husband bought it for me, but it's hers now because I'm too old for it.

So, what I've taken away is that I'm old but not yet old enough to cook my own bacon.  They say age is just a number, but it turns out, it's not.  I think I'd rather it just be a number.  I'm totally fine with the number but not with the little barbs thrown at me by my own kid.