I saw in my peripheral vision that the way I sat was straining my left knee. When I crossed my leg like the sail on a schooner it made a perfect cradle for a baby. So when we were not nursing, I tucked him or her in the triangle. My twenty year old body put up with it. And my thirty, and forty, since baby holding went on for awhile.

But lately there has been an ache in that joint that has a residual message of  "I told you so."

My uncle Don was famous for his prolific correspondence, and one time I got a note scribbled in pencil with an unexpected post script.

He did not slow down long enough for punctuation. Don was a good candidate for texting, though it hadn't been invented yet. I learned later that he was having knee surgery, and I gave it passing sympathy. Uncle Don has moved on and now enjoys a body with inexhaustible strength, and no pain.

More recently I have graduated to the age bracket in which corrective surgeries are legitimate first tier conversation topics. We ask. We hurt. We care. 

There are lifestyle choices that can erode the suppleness of our marriages, even if we get away with it for a bit. Demeaning our spouse, flirtations, sleazy humor all chip away at our promises, doing long term damage. 

Ignoring the subtle inner warning system that tries to steer us in a better direction may make it impossible to get where we truly want to go.