Signs I’m Getting Older and Wiser – But Mainly Just Older

I’ve been noticing some things lately that point me in the direction of believing I might be getting older.  Of course there are the obvious things like gray hairs and an embarrassing lack of flexibility, but these are a little more subtle:

I yearn for a regimen – I used to open up magazines and quickly gloss over the pages where B or C-list celebrities share their beauty tips.  I’d think to myself that when the time comes, I’ll have to pay more attention to these pages.  The way younger me was thinking I’ll never need these pages, because I’m invincible and will be young forever.  Well the time has come and the window for “getting in front of it” has definitely passed.  I contemplate snapping a picture of the pages, so I can do online research later.  The even older part of me contemplates grabbing a full notebook and pen.  Red light therapy a few times a week?  I have no idea what the red light is, but a former member of an MTV reality show is doing it, so it must work.  Standing on my head more?  Totally made this one up, but if it means I’ll look like Britney Spears (minus the bad hair extensions), worth a shot.

The Mom Bob – Yup, I did it and I’d do it again!  Chopped my hair off after I had my kids.  I think it says, “Sure I just had a baby and I’m a freakin’ mess, but look at how bouncy and carefree my hair is”.  It’s functional AND stylish, which is exactly why all of the models are doing it.  No, they’re not doing it?  Well I’m sure all of the Kardashians are right behind me.

Less Plucking – I have this lone hair that grows out of the mole under my chin.  Yup, I’m painting a pretty picture.  My husband calls it my weed.  Lately it’s not living up to its name.  It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, I’m actually feeling plucking withdrawals.  Same with my eyebrows.  They’re getting lighter and I’m starting to contemplate an eyebrow pencil.  Not for added definition, but I’m pretty sure they’re on the slippery slope to falling out all together.  All of this hair slow-down is being channeled to my legs.  Not sure what is happening there, but I’m starting to think I should be shaving those things twice a day.

Interrupting – I’ve been together with my husband for eleven years, married for nine, and it wasn’t until last year that he mentioned one of his pet peeves for me (don’t worry ladies, I asked), that I inter-…what?!  I would never interrupt someone.  Ok, yup, he’s right.  Now I catch myself doing it…a lot.  I used to try to make it sound endearing, like we’re so in love I’m just trying to finish his sentences.  But I’d be lying.  You know when the elderly start to get a little sassier and set in their ways?  I can see it now.  The nursing staff at the rest home will try to explain to me why I have to sit somewhere else in the dining hall for this one meal, and I’ll cut them off explaining that I don’t care about their excuses.

I’m no style expert – I have a hard time deciphering between the styles of “another day at the office” and “night out with the girls”.  I know, it’s embarrassing just to type it, kind of.  I’d care more if I were younger (wink).  Both events involve a cardigan or a scarf or both.  I’m the reason Stitch Fix is so successful.  No, I haven’t used them yet, but I might have to make it a 2017 goal.  I went to a Sunglass Hut the other day and was trying on some new shades.  My husband is a genius and tells me everything looks great on me.  He’s more outgoing than I am and asks one of the sales girls for her opinion.  As soon as he starts to talk to her, I’m looking for an escape route through the overhead air ducts.  The young twenty-something looks at my face and hesitates.  Oh geeze – brutal!  I was dismissive at first, but I did need a little help.  Marcus would have told me that Minion goggles looked sexy on me, so at least she was giving me honest feedback.  I realized that I was looking at a child though.  It was not worth asking, “What year did you graduate?  You look soooo familiar”.

Working out is dangerous – I feel like this is a little bit of karma.  I’ve told friends multiple times over the past several years that working out is dangerous, which is why I don’t do it.  In my defense, I was teasing because during that time I was in the middle of, or coming off of, three straight years of being pregnant.  Well, I decided to seize 2017 as my year to get in shape (aka have some mommy alone time).  My husband and I ordered a compact treadmill which I could use at home.  With both kids and our dog waking up a combined total of around five times a night, I needed to find something that I could do at home.  I am proud to say that I’ve been using the treadmill three to four times a week since the new year started.  And that’s exactly how long it’s taken to gain a sore hip and a busted knee.  I’m using the term ‘busted’ because I’m not sure how else to get the point across that it freakin’ hurts.  I’m not giving up, but this girl needs a rest.  Case in point…working out is dangerous.

These are just a few examples of things I’ve noticed in the recent months that show I might be getting older.  Maybe I’m looking at this all wrong though.  Instead of comparing myself to the twenty-something me, maybe I should compare myself to the ninety-year-old me.  If that’s the case, I have the skin of a porcelain doll, the mane of Crystal Gayle, an insatiable lust for conversation, the closet stylings of a model for Ann Taylor LOFT and my name is Usain Bolt.