So, I just read my mom's latest blog post, "Uh...Where Do I Live Again?" about her struggle with getting older, and it got me thinking again about what I was thinking about last night as I was trying to go to bed (deep breath), and that is...
I'm older and not cool at all anymore.
Now, I know this is inevitable and aging is not a choice. I actually don't mind aging, the actual number of years I have been on this earth. My birthdays are never depressing for me. I love my birthday!! Forty is in my near-future and my husband turns 40 this year, but I am pretty okay with it. What I am not okay with is the way my body has changed, how it is harder to get well when I am sick, how my joints hurt, how I can't see when I drive at night, and how my coolness factor has greatly diminished by looney leaps and brainless bounds.
Instead of reading W, Elle or Vogue magazine with the latest runway fashions and "What Your Man Really Thinks About Your Body" sex quizzes, I now curl up in my oversized unsexy sweats to read Family Circle and All You with their coupons for Poise Pads and advertisements for Lane Bryant.
Coolness factor going down.
I saved $20 at the grocery store last week with coupons and I was so happy about it that you would have thought I had achieved world peace.
This morning, I forgot the word for "belt" and last night I had to ask my husband the word for "tongs" because I was trying to tell my son what they were called and I couldn't remember. Two days ago, I almost put coffee in my son's bottle TWICE and I forgot my 2 year old's name for a few seconds last week.
I used to dress very well, had the latest fashions, and I was thin and sort of in shape. Now, I hardly have any clothes left that fit me after having 2 kids, my boobs are like 2 hanging socks with golf balls at the bottom, my stomach is all stretched out from GROWING 2 HUMAN BEINGS, I only might wear a bathing suit if you pay me 2 million dollars, and several times I have left the house and gotten in the car still wearing my house shoes. I am waiting for the day when I forget to put on my pants. I have even forgotten to care about panty lines. Yesterday, I noticed I had terrible panty lines and then realized I hadn't looked at that aspect of my appearance in months. Who knows how many days I had been walking around with 4 butt cheeks instead of two?
Really not cool.
I do wonder sometimes if my best days are behind me. Not just as far as my appearance goes, but also as far as fun goes. My twenties were the bomb. I had some very hard times in my 20's, but I also had so much fun and made a lot of great memories. I was unattached, fairly irresponsible, and I absolutely knew how to have a good time!
I can't really say that about my 30's. My 30's have been tough and, for the most part, not very fun. I wouldn't mind if I forgot most of my thirties. I have had some wonderful life-changing events in my 30's, like getting married and giving birth to my perfect sons (yes, I said PERFECT), but my 30's have also been very challenging and disappointing and I haven't laughed much this decade.
I have spent much of this decade feeling unprepared and stressed and overwhelmed.
In my mother's blog post, she talks about her stress coming out in her dreams, and mine have as well. Two nights ago, I had a dream that I agreed to sing at a charity event and then forgot I agreed to do it, so when the night of the charity event came, I panicked when I realized I was completely unprepared and didn't know the music or the words to the song (which was, ironically, "If I Could Turn Back Time" by Cher...).
Anyway, I can try to get my body back when my kids stop wearing me the hell out, I'm afraid my coolness is gone forever, but I sure hope the fun isn't gone forever, too. My version of fun would be different these days - it used to be wearing a super cute outfit and going out to dinner and drinks and maybe hit a few bars with my friends. Now, my version of fun would be having endless amounts of money at Disneyworld with my family and a full-time nanny in tow.
Not cool. I know.
If I had a housekeeper, well, that would be so much fun that it might push me to the brink of blissful happiness. Forget cute outfits, nights out on the town, and vacations - I will settle for a good push-up bra and someone to clean my boy-ridden toilets. I hate how boys (and I am including grown men in this) can't seem to pee IN the toilet. How big of a target do they need?