In two weeks time I'm going to be 42! I'm heading full on into the wrong side of the big 4-0! The number itself doesn't really bother me...I don't feel old. My mental age didn't really extend beyond 19. I still giggle at double entendres, can't behave myself in public places and do silly things that border on the immature. On one hand, I am responsible for my children, a house and all that that entails. But on the other hand I still behave like a child...I mean I can't hear about the planet "Uranus" without dissolving into hysterics.
The only problem is, someone forget to tell my body that I am still really only 19!! It's the grey hairs that get to me the most. They sprout out from your scalp mockingly. Their texture is so coarse and they grow at right angles to the other darker hairs. They make themselves so obvious! They don't discretely blend in with your other hair in a lovely salt 'n' pepper arrangement. They are not subtle. It is cruel. I refuse to start dyeing it though. My mum battled with her own hair for as long as I can remember. The roots always had the upper hand, edging through within days of a DIY dye. It was only when she caught her reflection in a security mirror in a post office that she realised how unflattering the stark contrast of dark brown locks to white roots was. She made the brave decision to grow out the dye and go au naturel. At first she looked like a Piebald Pony with patches of black, white and browny orange. But with regular cuts and perseverance, she has now got the most beautiful soft, snowy white hair. I am hoping to cut out the middle man and avoid the six weekly treatments and let nature do its thing. I just wish it wouldn't do it in such a mean way with the wiry, white curlies!
The whole diet issue has changed with age too. It's not too difficult to shift a few pounds but the second I so much as look at a cake, the shrunken fat cells ping back to their former swollen glory. As the overstretched belly once more hangs over the waist band of my jeans I wonder if surgery is the only option! That is...getting my greedy mouth sewn shut! It really does astound me that my weight can fluctuate +/- 7lbs across a week. I don't remember this phenomena when I was younger. My fat cells have given up after two decades of being stretched and shrunk. They are schizophrenic, flitting between their fat and thin personae at their own whim. I am left in varying degrees of overhang, depending on their mood! The skin on my body stretched by five pregnancies struggles to hold it all in place. Sometimes I contemplate attaching a row of dog clips down my spine pulling my flab taut in a temporary DIY nip and tuck!
My other bug bear regarding my age is the appearance of skin tags and other random outcrops of epidermal overgrowth. They pop up overnight for no reason. Coupled with this I still get spots! I thought I'd outgrow the indignity of hormonal break outs. It was going to be one of the joys of ageing...instead it's just another way of my body to spite me.
Bunions are my body's way of punishing me for years spent in silly, pointy, new romantic shoes in my youth, followed by red stillettos in my latter teens. I've not been able to get on a pair of girl shoes for years. My metatarsals have splayed, my arches have dropped and my big toe has given up any effort of trying to be straight. As I do battle with toe nails that want to ingrow, I wish I'd worn Hush Puppies at that time when all the damage was being done!
The knees ache after a lifetime of being "the tall one"...we were so not designed to be bi-peds!
My under eye bags need more than caffeinated roll on products to shrink them. Having a baby at my age, then making the decision to be an attachment parent means I have not slept through the night for 21 months and counting. *yawns* One night when I get 8 hours uninterrupted I won't know what's hit me! Till then I'll bed share and breast feed like a mummy doggy with her puppy.
All that said...at 42 I am happy, healthy, loved and so,so lucky! I wouldn't want to be anyone else or anywhere else. I may not be a size 10 anymore but I'll shake my size 14 backside with pride. I won't be running a marathon (good luck to all those about to take on 26 miles in London...RESPECT!!!) I'm not going to win Britain's Next Top Model. But Hell...I'm me and life is pretty damn fabulous...celluite and callouses and all!!
Showing posts with label age. Show all posts
Showing posts with label age. Show all posts
Monday, 11 April 2011
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Feeling My Age
I have had babies in every reproductive decade of my life. There have been age related pros and cons to each one. I've muddled through and loved every minute of being a mum to each and everyone of my five children relishing the challenges thrown in my direction. From newborn to teens and with every possible combination of ages in between...it's been a blast!
As a family we are mellow and laid back and life is pretty easy. I'm blessed with a husband who insists that we are a team, and ergo he does at least half of the household chores, as well as being the sole breadwinner. Team McD works perfectly and life is sweet. I am a very spoilt kept woman!
But these last two weeks have been trying. When uninvited microscopic visitors took up residence in my home, they inflicted untold damage to my usual calm and relaxed existence. The sickness bug swept through my family one by one. We'd only just shaken off a bout of colds, and here we were again...heading to Poorlyville, Arizona.
I won't go into the details...but needless to say, it weren't pretty. I'm one of those people who gags at the mention of sick, so I'm as much use as a bicycle is to a fish. Another job for Ian is puke mopper uppper. I just can't do it...I'm pathetic, gagging and retching, eyes watering...useless. So armed with disinfectant, cloth, carrier bags and a strong stomach, Ian took over the role of nursemaid.
During this time, Freddy was also trying to cut some molars and seemed to wake up at 4am everynight to tell us all about it. His inconsolable crying is only calmed by being rocked stood up. How he knows when you try to slip back onto the bed is beyond me. As the first buttock touched down on the mattress the gyroscopic cuddle detector instantly woke him up again. We don't ever leave him crying so this is high maintenance parenting at its most intense. When he wasn't demanding vertical cuddles he'd be feeding non-stop. He is showing no signs at all of any desire to self wean, in fact his nocturnal boob fest is getting more intense. And when he is not latched on and ferociously consuming his own body weight in my home made gold top, he is clambouring on my head with a foot in his Daddy's face. I hope the teeth come through soon and he will be back in his cot by the side of our bed, letting us all enjoy some peaceful slumber.
At 19 I was full of energy to cope with all-nighters, juggling a new baby with nights out clubbing. In my 20's I felt empowered and able to take on the world, confident in my role as a parent and young enough to bounce back from whatever life threw at me. In my 30's I felt an old hat at the parenting lark. Now in my 40's, although I am more secure, comfortable and happy than I ever have been before, the body just doesn't recover quite as well. The sleepless nights are taking their toll. The aftermath of being ill myself, followed by the children being poorly has left me totally exhausted. Everything is an effort. I feel like I haven't slept in a month. I can't stop yawning. I feel like I've got another cold coming...my immune system has given up on me. So although the germs have kindly vacated the premises, the aftermath of a week or so of disturbed sleep has turned me and Ian into mere husks of our former selves. We resemble extras from Thriller...but with less energy. The Zombie Apocalypse is playing out in our house...it is like Dawn of the Dead. We are dragging our sorry arses around, groaning and moaning and feeling sorry for ourselves. Thank goodness it is nearly the weekend. The children who have bounced back so beautifully can look after us, while we stay in bed and allow our ageing bodies to recouperate!
As a family we are mellow and laid back and life is pretty easy. I'm blessed with a husband who insists that we are a team, and ergo he does at least half of the household chores, as well as being the sole breadwinner. Team McD works perfectly and life is sweet. I am a very spoilt kept woman!
But these last two weeks have been trying. When uninvited microscopic visitors took up residence in my home, they inflicted untold damage to my usual calm and relaxed existence. The sickness bug swept through my family one by one. We'd only just shaken off a bout of colds, and here we were again...heading to Poorlyville, Arizona.
I won't go into the details...but needless to say, it weren't pretty. I'm one of those people who gags at the mention of sick, so I'm as much use as a bicycle is to a fish. Another job for Ian is puke mopper uppper. I just can't do it...I'm pathetic, gagging and retching, eyes watering...useless. So armed with disinfectant, cloth, carrier bags and a strong stomach, Ian took over the role of nursemaid.
During this time, Freddy was also trying to cut some molars and seemed to wake up at 4am everynight to tell us all about it. His inconsolable crying is only calmed by being rocked stood up. How he knows when you try to slip back onto the bed is beyond me. As the first buttock touched down on the mattress the gyroscopic cuddle detector instantly woke him up again. We don't ever leave him crying so this is high maintenance parenting at its most intense. When he wasn't demanding vertical cuddles he'd be feeding non-stop. He is showing no signs at all of any desire to self wean, in fact his nocturnal boob fest is getting more intense. And when he is not latched on and ferociously consuming his own body weight in my home made gold top, he is clambouring on my head with a foot in his Daddy's face. I hope the teeth come through soon and he will be back in his cot by the side of our bed, letting us all enjoy some peaceful slumber.
At 19 I was full of energy to cope with all-nighters, juggling a new baby with nights out clubbing. In my 20's I felt empowered and able to take on the world, confident in my role as a parent and young enough to bounce back from whatever life threw at me. In my 30's I felt an old hat at the parenting lark. Now in my 40's, although I am more secure, comfortable and happy than I ever have been before, the body just doesn't recover quite as well. The sleepless nights are taking their toll. The aftermath of being ill myself, followed by the children being poorly has left me totally exhausted. Everything is an effort. I feel like I haven't slept in a month. I can't stop yawning. I feel like I've got another cold coming...my immune system has given up on me. So although the germs have kindly vacated the premises, the aftermath of a week or so of disturbed sleep has turned me and Ian into mere husks of our former selves. We resemble extras from Thriller...but with less energy. The Zombie Apocalypse is playing out in our house...it is like Dawn of the Dead. We are dragging our sorry arses around, groaning and moaning and feeling sorry for ourselves. Thank goodness it is nearly the weekend. The children who have bounced back so beautifully can look after us, while we stay in bed and allow our ageing bodies to recouperate!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
