In the modern world of today, I am not that old, even when you consider that I have an advanced degree, have been married for almost 7 years and have 3 children. But most days I get stuck in my own warped sense of reality where being 29 (plus 1 anniversary) means I am almost 85. My bones are starting to make strange noises as I hobble around the house; I am more than happy to enjoy an early bird dinner; and polyester clothing is starting to look somewhat appealing.
My beautiful children have given me a sleep schedule consisting of approximately 8 minutes a day, resulting in the area under my eyes looking like what can only be described as those black reflective thingies that baseball players wear to keep the sun out of their eyes. My dark hair is also getting ‘lighter’ in stray pieces. And by ‘lighter’ I don’t mean in the George Clooney/Anderson Cooper “silver fox” kind of way; I mean I skipped gray and went straight to the institutionalized white of a mad scientist from a horror movie. Luckily,
I have lots of free time and money to go get my hair professionally colored….. I have time to go to the store and buy a box of color…..I have time to rip the strays from my head while I sit on the couch watching my stories and eating bonbons. We won’t even discuss how my former washboard abs now look like a tiny map of the New York subway system.
I blame my kids for most of the issues I have with my body, but the truth is, they also provide solutions for me. For example, the 2 lbs of sand they bring home every day in their shoes is a great exfoliant for my weary feet. And the endless supply of markers and paint are an excellent way to touch up my roots while on the go. My creaky bones have also become the percussion section of our family band, so it just works!
Maybe it really is time I just started accepting my lack of youth and learning to love the old lady within. They say with age usually comes wisdom…..or dementia. Either way, BINGO! (now where did I put my Fiber One bars?)