You are going to get old, and it is going to happen so fast.

You won’t see it coming. You’ll just be living your life the way you always have, thinking “I sure am young!” And then one day, out of the blue, you’ll say a single sentence and as it comes out of your mouth you will have a horrifying realisation that now you are old, oldy old old.

My husband and I were lying in bed last Saturday night around 9pm; we’d finally wrestled our two-year-old into her own bed and threw ourselves down to slip straight into a coma.

Sign One of ageing: Choosing sleep over, well… anything else on a Saturday night.

So we’re lying there in the dark and then a party erupts. Not one in our bedroom, sadly. The party was about two streets away. The music was loud, and as the doof doof drifted through the windows I listened to the tunes and realised they were all songs I didn’t know.

Sign Two of ageing: Not knowing a single current song.

If it’s not from Frozen, chances are I haven’t heard it.

But I didn’t mind lying there listening to people having a good time. I remember those days, of loud music and dancing late on a Saturday night.

Sign Three of ageing: Reminiscing about the good old days… or even saying those words… ‘good old days’.

As I lay there, listening and reminiscing, I snuggled into the hubby and realised I was more than happy to be here in bed early, in the house we built, with the baby we made sleeping peacefully and I was happy.

Sign Four of ageing: Being boring = Happiness.

Gerard, on the other hand, had no patience with the noise and huffed and puffed and rolled over crankily at the noise perpetrating our bedroom.

Sign Five of ageing: Low tolerance for noise. Or teenagers. Or Parties. Or the sound of people having fun. Or huffing and puffing.

At the ripe old age of 29, Gerard rolled over, agitated, and asked “at what time is it ok to ring the police and tell them to turn it down?”

Sign Six of ageing: Calling the police for anything ever.

I laughed at first, until I realised he was totally not joking. He really wanted to call and be that cranky old neighbour killing the fun for the kids down the road. The man I met 10 years ago would have got out of bed, put on some pants and joined the fun. The 10 years older version was quite literally ‘too old for this s*#t’.

The seventh sign of ageing? Knowing the time to call.

“11 O’Clock, honey… they can play loud music until 11, and then you can call and complain,” I replied, and then we both laughed as I got up and shut the window.