Momservation: If things get better with age, I’m about to become f**king awesome.
☺ ☺ ☺
Really? Forty-six? Barely knocking on the back door of 50? THIS is what I get:
Buying reading glasses by the six-pack.
Dying my hair every three weeks and plucking every two days.
Hot flashes coming quicker than Usain Bolt.
Permanent laugh lines that make it seem like I thought the world was hilarious the last four decades.
A larger body of food and I having to part ways because they’ve decided to take up mixed martial arts with my intestines.
Puffy. Everything is puffy no matter what I do. A bazillion sit-ups, a full hour of Kelly Ripa and Ryan on the elliptical, running when no one is chasing me, cutting out my beloved salt…Everything. Just. Stays. Puffy.
Except my thinning hair. It can’t decide if it wants to fall out or regrow surprise-style from horribly embarrassing places.
Prior to being given any sort of notice, I have become a woman of a certain age and certain size and I’m not certain I like it.
Why didn’t anyone warn me that Middle Age is not just for old people? What happened to Foxy Forties? Where’s my Cougar Town? I’m not seeing Penelope Cruz when I accidently open my camera in selfie mode—I’m seeing a chin convention!
Back in my 20’s and 30’s when I heard people say, “Oh, I can’t eat that because it doesn’t agree with me,” or “Now where did I put my other pair of reading glasses?” I thought these people were like ancient.
Nope. Forties. They were in their forties.
I blame my mom, really, for not sounding the alarm and at least giving me a chance to run. That woman has looked youthful and great well into her 60’s. Middle Age has looked awesome on her. Sure, she had to move up to the industrial strength bra and carries extra luggage just for her vitamins and face creams, but people were still mistaking her for Sally Field in her 40’s (as Gidget, not as Forest Gump’s mom).
When I confronted her about this menopause nonsense in my 40’s she said, “I guess I was about 48 or 49 when it started.”
“Forty-five, Mom! Why am I having hot flashes at 45?”
“Yeah, you’ve always been an overachiever,” she answered.
So, great. I’m an overachiever in the Middle Age group. Swell.
But, hey, for all you people in your forties who are also in hand-to-hand combat with the quickly advancing age army come on in and join me in my pity party—the water’s warm.
But it might be because I peed in it. Incontinence. Another joy of Middle Age…