The other night while Bebe was asleep, I was talking with my husband about how old I’d be when Bebe will be a certain age.

This came about because over the weekend, I asked my husband to take an updated professional photograph of me. I was interviewed for a podcast show by my alma mater about a career topic, and I wanted to use a more recent photograph that looks professional. I’d been using a more personal photo of me and Bebe for all of my web profiles, including LinkedIn and Twitter. I didn’t want to use the 2006 professional photo that hubby took of me – my hair’s since been cropped short and let’s face it – I got extra wrinkles now.

When I looked through the various photographs that hubby took, I was aghast at how old I looked. Mind you – I can see exactly how many pores I have on my nose because I was looking at high resolution proofs. I’m talking about ridiculous levels of magnification that shows you what no one should ever see on their own faces because they will be traumatized by the unbashed imperfection of their faces.

Of course, once you reduce the photo to web size, I look “mature, yet sophisticated”.

Hubby did tell me that I looked like my mom with the short haircut that I now wear, and I don’t think he meant that as a compliment. I told him that the long hair ain’t coming back, but once Bebe goes to school and I find myself having too much discretionary time to twiddle my thumbs, I might think about growing out the hair.

So that night in bed we were talking about aging. Then I started calculating.

“When Bebe’s 11 I’ll be 47.
When Bebe’s 21 I’ll be 57.
When Bebe’s 31 I’ll be 67.
Oh my god! 67!” I said.

I decided that I must (MUST!!) stay alive at 67 because by then, Bebe may have gotten married, and will be established in his life in terms of “identity” and “values”.

I’d really like to still be alive at 77 because Bebe will 41, and perhaps a dad (my husband is 41 right now, and Bebe is just over 1 year old). Then I’d be able to see Bebe’s baby, or “Bebe’s Bebe”!

I ain’t changing no diapers though, I’m saying that up front.

OK, maybe occasionally I’ll change Bebe’s Bebe’s diapers.

Anything for Bebe.

(It does put me in a sober mood, to think that I’m closer to mortality than I used to be, except now I have a lot more to lose than I used to have.)

Image credit: hourglass by yunior.