On July 19, I'll be forty-six years old. By no means do I think I'm heading into being decrepit. But, I have to admit there have been changes. Hubby keeps telling me, "You're not getting older, you're getting better." God bless him, but I see the changes. Here are a few.
Everything is pointing south. Remember when everything on your body was perky? So do I. But perky doesn't live here anymore. Boobs, butt, and stomach have retired to the south. Okay, this can be fixed. But I don't want more silicone in me than a valley in California. And I used to have eyelids. What happened to my eyelids? I'm used to having wrinkle free eyelids that don't make my eyeshadow cake in a few hours. And I may as well forget charcoal eyeliner and the "smokey eye" look. Unless I'm trying to look like Uncle Fester from "The Adams Family."
Wrinkles in the forehead? Botox baby! Mannequins are in. There was even a movie about one. In 1987. When I was 30. Thirty years old and wailing about hitting the "big three-oh!' I want the forty-five year old me to slap the hell out of the thirty year old me.
I sneeze, I laugh to hard...Sorry, not going there.
I've got lumps in body parts I didn't know I had! Cellulose folks. Wonder of wonders! Until I hit thirty six I could eat a whole strawberry pie by myself and not gain an ounce. I'd laugh when my mother told me, "One day, that's going to catch up with you." I had a metabolism that wouldn't quit. Why oh why didn't I blow up when I was pregnant? At least then I could blame "baby weight." But my last baby was ten years old before I started to blow up.
I've got pains in body parts I didn't know I had. Isn't it strange that as we grow older, we get more aware of our bodies? Knees, shoulders, joints and even teeth are reminding me they are still present and need attention. Excuse me, but where were you when I was ignoring you? (Got a nagging toothache right now)
Gray hair! Looks great on hubby. Gives him a distinguished look. Makes me look like Frankenstein's monster. What in the hell is the deal with gray hair? For some odd reason, it has this unreasonable need to stick straight out in the air! Even if the rest of my hair is behaving, all my gray hair wants to stand up an yell, "NOTICE ME!" And I can't color them. Along with age comes finer hair, and I found out you have to be nice to your hair when you get older. Which means chemical free or go bald later. So even my hair has become a wimp. I don't like to see truckloads of it coming out in my hair brush.
Of course, there are some good things to growing older. I get to see my children go through life. Fall in love. Have my grand babies. In seven days, I will see my fourth grandchild come into this world. And I will be the happiest forty-six year old on the planet. Until he listens to one of my stories about the good old days and asks, "What's an eight track tape?" For those of you who don't get this joke, asks your grandma. Or great grandma. If you have to ask your great-great grandma then EEEK! I am old!