Am I Really Losing It?

So, I go to the doctor to establish myself as his patient. I am weighed and then the nurse says, "Let's see how tall you are."

I know how tall I am, five feet eight inches, so that will come as no surprise. Except she says, "Five feet, six inches."

I stand there for a minute, and say, "Are you sure? I've been five/eight for a long time."

"Yes, I am," says she. "See the marker there?" And walks off.

Well, no, I don't see the marker there. 

I check my pants. They aren't suddenly too long. 

I fret about it all the way home.

I mean, I know people shrink. My poor mother has shrunk four or five inches. But she knows it. Her clothes know it. Stuff she can't reach anymore knows it.

I haven't noticed any difference.

Husband says, "You've not shrunk. You're the same." But I think, what if he's shrunk two inches, too, and just doesn't notice?

I rush to the pantry when we get home, and scoot up against the wall where we have measured Daughter all her life. When she was very small, she wanted me to put my mark, too, so we could see how fast she was catching up with me. I pull away, and I'm at the same place I've always been. That makes me feel some better, but as soon as Daughter gets home I tell her to get back to back with me. 

Daughter just happens to be five feet eight inches tall, too.

We remain the same height.

Whew.

But then I start thinking.

What if she's shrunk two inches, too...