Hey, Four Eyes!

When I was about 12 years old, my eye doctor told me that I’d need glasses one day, but not until I was 40. When you’re 12 years old, you can’t comprehend 40 — heck, it’s hard to comprehend 13. Still, it was something that always stuck in the back of my head as reality — one day, I’d need glasses.
Then, last year, I found out that I needed frickin’ lasers shot into my frickin’ eyes. At the time the diagnosis was made, it was already apparent that age was catching up to me, and that my vision — compounded from nearly 30 years in front of a computer monitor — was finally beginning to lose its finesse. But I stayed in denial, and stuck to my “when I’m 40” belief, and marched on with life.
That was until this year. The time has come.
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If I could save time in a bottle

Jim Croce’s song has been echoing in my head the last few days, as I’ve watched and played with you, Choo Choo. I don’t even know the words, so much as the tune, and the song’s desire to save the precious moments, and pour them back out to savour them.
Lately, I’ve wanted dearly to stop time. Not because of any perceived notion of aging (as has been pointed out by others, I certainly don’t seem to act my age), but for fear of losing you as you are, now. My little bundle of happy joy, your gleeful cackle when you see someone you know, your little giggle.
I feel like it’s all about to slip through my fingers.
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