Those of you who grew up on John Hughes movies probably have the Beatles song, Birthday, on repeat once a year, just like I do thanks to Sixteen Candles. Today is that day. Today, I turn twenty…something. Why does anyone even say thirty-something or forty-something? After all, we’re all still twenty-something for as long as we live, right?
I used to be willing to tip someone, if they’d buy me booze from the local convenience store. Now, I want to tip someone, if they just ask me for my ID. I used to be able to party two days in a row without sleep and then go running. Now, I get a hangover while I’m drinking.
When did gravity start making my face look more chiseled? Everything kind of droops, so now you can see my cheekbones. Goodbye baby face, hello Shar Pei. When did my dimples turn into large laugh lines? When did the Samsonites under my eyes never go on vacation?
Lately, I’ve been noticing that my ears and nose are growing. It’s almost like a lemur bred with Pinocchio. Good thing, both features started off small.
Lately, I’ve noticed my skinny frame, that once looked toned with simple, daily activity, is starting to look “skinny fat”. Gravity has given the flab a nice weight for noticeability. If I wear a tank top and I lift my arms too fast, I can feel the jiggle. Hubs has recently started a push-up regime with his co-workers. He’s up to 125 push-ups. I tried to do ONE the other day with difficulty. Looks like yoga needs to be replaced with a set of barbells.
Sometimes when I walk up the stairs, my knees creak. Sometimes, when I lay on the floor too long, Indian-style, I need the aid of furniture to lift myself up. There are various sound effects that mimic an old, constipated person who is finally able to release and relax. The rolls on my stomach are happy, only because they can fold into a smiley face.
Lately, I’ve been noticing that when I read I wish I had a flashlight, even in broad daylight. My arms also get tired from holding the book so far away from my face. Maybe my once 30-10 vision has diminished. I’m too busy to go to the Optometrist, so I’ve been eyeing the reading glasses at the local pharmacy. My dad buys several pairs of ugly, reading glasses from Costco and places them all over the house. This habit may be hereditary.
The combination of my fluctuating hormones and motherhood make me have split personalities that rival the seven dwarfs molded together.
Bashful: I’m less apt to socialize with a kid, so my people skills are non-existent.
Doc: I spend a lot of time on WebMD trying to diagnose the family, so we never have to fork out the cash for a real MD.
Dopey: Motherhood has made me tired and therefore stupid.
Grumpy: Pre-menopause is probably kicking in, so I’m often annoyed.
Happy: Babyface and Hubs are solely responsible for this one.
Sleepy: Again, motherhood makes me tired.
Sneezy: My daughter’s low immunity makes me fall ill more often.
I remember before the new millennium, when everyone thought Y2K would blow up all of technology; I contemplated how old I would in the year 2000. It seemed so damn old. I pictured people flying around in their cars. We would take a pill dispensed from a household vending machine for every meal. We would be automatically dressed and showered every morning, with the push of a button. The Jetsons life seemed within reach.
2013 and there are no flying cars everywhere. We’re still eating carbs. Y2K meant nothing. There is no cure for cancer. And, I’m even more f#$%ing old.
I got bored when I started watching The Curious Life of Benjamin Button, but the premise is a dream come true for the middle aged. Wish that all of this wisdom could be matched with a hot body. Do I still get my wish, after I blow out the candles, if I’ve shared it on my blog?