But now that I'm here, 43 doesn't feel much different from 23 … in my mind. But parts of me have definitely expired, much like the warranty on a car. Or a hot water heater.
Let's start with the extra hair that keeps popping up in the craziest places on my body. It's coming out my chin and even my ears. But it's nothing like the hair that grows out of my head. It's the grossest thing that's ever happened to me. And if the lady behind the makeup counter at Neiman's doesn't stop suggesting I wax MY ENTIRE FACE because she feels I'm "awfully hairy," I'm going to lose my mind.
Then there are the extreme hot waves that crash into me several times a day, also known as hot flashes (I would soon learn). When I first started having them, I was sure I was coming down with some kind of exotic pig flu. But a trip to the doctor and a blood test revealed I am in the midst of diving head first into menopause. MENOPAUSE. At my age! How can that be? I'm so…young-ish. By the way, I'm not handling the whole menopause thing so well so far. And neither is my family. They're hoping the estrogen spray kicks in soon.
I'm also finding that a lot of foods I used to love to eat don't sit well with me anymore. Nowadays, I get horrible indigestion from things like chocolate, pastries and wine. Have you ever heard anything crueler? Don't get me wrong, I still eat chocolate and drink wine, but now I pop antacids like they're Tic Tacs before, during and after. It reminds me of my grandfather. He carried Tums in his pants pocket everywhere he went because he had the same problem. He was 70.
The worst part of growing older is what happened to my metabolism. It appears to have packed its bags and left the building. I can't seem to lose the 10 pounds I've put on over the last three years. I can't even lose ONE pound. I exercise six days a week and have cut out most carbs, and still my jeans won't button. And I go through two opposite emotions regarding this: apathy and panic.
Some mornings I am so consumed with the heavier me that I sink into a sort of depression where I spend the day weeping and carefully counting every single calorie that crosses my lips. Then there are days I drive through McDonald's and order a Filet-O-Fish and large French fries before going home and mixing up cake batter. It's usually not enough batter to bake a full-sized cake because I eat most of it while it's in the batter stage. It's like the best day ever
I've always bragged about my perfect eyesight. But now that I'm a "woman in my 40s," I can't brag so much about it anymore. I find that I spend a lot of time squinting, and I can't read road signs from half a mile away anymore. Restaurant menus seem to be printed in an awfully small font these days, and reading in the dark is near impossible. I haven't broken down and made an appointment to see the eye doctor yet, but it's totally time.
Grocery store cashiers used to ask for my ID when I bought wine. Now they just look at my face and then place the bottle in a brown paper sack. I made the mistake once of asking, "Don't you need to see if I'm old enough to buy that?" only to have the lady bust out laughing and say, "Oh honey, I can tell you're over 21." I've been getting Botox injections ever since.
You know what? I was in a pretty good mood before I started writing about all the things that seem to be going wrong with me in my older age. I think it's going to be one of those cake batter kind of days.
Happy birthday to me.
