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Am I Really Getting Older?
I had quite the awakening recently when I noticed some unexpected horizontal lines appearing on my forehead. Standing in front of the mirror, I attempted to smooth them out, only to have my husband chime in with his supportive commentary.
“Babe, you’re getting older. Those are just laugh lines. It means you’re happy, but yeah, you’re old.”
“Happy? Not at this moment. And you’re losing your hair!”
What on earth just happened? Have I crossed the threshold into “old”?
I mean, I take care of my skin! I’m a VIB at Sephora.com (for those who don’t know, that means Very Important Beauty). My latest splurge was a $98 serum featuring regenerative strains of micro-algae. It promised to lift and firm, and yet here I am, sporting what looks like bowling alley gutters above my brows while my breasts seem to have taken a permanent vacation south.
Sure, I’ve always had the advantage of looking younger than my years. Lucky me, right? But try telling that to someone who’s layering on so much spandex she could be a backup dancer for Richard Simmons. At least I can breathe at night.
Then there’s the whole forgetting and misplacing things saga. Sure, they might be small items, but it’s maddening! Just yesterday, I was on a frantic hunt for my phone while my kids waited impatiently with their backpacks, lunch boxes in hand, wrestling like little gladiators. “Stop fighting! I need to find my phone!”
“Uh, Mom, it’s in your hand.”
Awesome.
“Get in the car!”
“Mom, I think you might be getting older.”
“Get in the trunk!”
And don’t even get me started on grey hair. As a proud Italian/Ukrainian brunette, I spotted my first grey early on, and it was a stubborn little guy right in the front. What began as semi-annual colorings has now morphed into a full-time relationship with my stylist, who practically lives with us now. Yes, ladies, the situation down below also mirrors the changes up top. Keep an eye on that; you definitely don’t want your partner to discover that archaeological dig.
Eventually, you’ll find yourself in the Triple Crown club: head, chin, and let’s not forget the carpet. I fondly refer to my chin hair as “the sofa.” The first one I discovered was so fierce I had to show my husband just for a laugh. His reaction? “If you want me to touch you ever again, don’t show me that!”
Let’s also talk about intimacy. I used to be quite the acrobat in my 20s and 30s, but after kids, a thyroid disorder, and early menopause, things have changed dramatically. If you’re curious about what that means for your sex drive, just Google it. Trust me, you’ll never search again! Plus, there are, well, drying issues. Your body doesn’t quite work like a fountain anymore. There are creams and alternatives, but intimacy has become more of a planned event rather than a spontaneous adventure. It’s all about laughter and maybe a little KY—extra strength is a must! Sure, you can still have fun, but swinging from chandeliers? Forget it; that’s a recipe for a backache!
And, yes, I’ve put on some weight. Well, okay, I’ve packed on a few extra pounds. Some women seem to escape this fate, while the rest of us have to accept that our bodies are changing. Remember that youthful metabolism? It’s long gone. So, you can either bid farewell to wine and desserts or embrace that extra bit of you. For me, I refuse to go out sipping kale smoothies. Not happening! I’ve made it through half a century, raised two kids who are still alive (despite their antics), and I certainly deserve a glass of wine and a piece of chocolate cake. And it better be a corner piece!
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In summary, aging may come with its quirks, but it’s all about embracing the journey. Celebrate every laugh line and every “sofa” hair, and know that life is meant to be enjoyed—one sip of wine and slice of cake at a time.