A decrepit

So the other day I was helping our almost six year old son make his top bunk bed. I climbed up on the bottom bed and was reaching and helping him smooth the sheets and covers. He was on top frolicking from one side to the other, trying to make a smooth bed.
Just then he looked over at me and declared, "Gee mom, you are getting really old!"
Realizing that I am not a bouncing teenager anymore, I didn't quite know what to think about his comment. Really old to me is my nearly ninety grandparents that have a hard time toddling around their small house. Surely I am not that old to him. In fact I have always looked very young for my age; for example, when I went to high school people almost directed me to the daycare center, because I surely couldn't have been old enough to be a student. When I received my driver's license, the poor lady almost passed out in fear that a girl could look so young and still be sixteen. We won't even talk about how it was to walk around as a co-ed in college.
So to be told I am getting really old unnerved me. Are my wrinkles showing up? Will my uterus be shot by the time we have money saved up for our next IVF? Do I need to start covering my gray? My poor kids are the ones that will be embarrassed to be seen around me because I look more like a grandma than a mom at school.
All these thoughts rolled around and bounced in my head, when the thought occurred to me that I should ask him what he meant by me being really old.
He replied with a grin the size of Texas, "You know, you are too old to climb up on the bunk bed. That makes you old"
PHEW!! Maybe I am not "really old", just about the right age. Too old for a bunk bed, but just right to be a mom.