Let’s face it, no matter how many articles, blogs, Facebook posts, etc. say it, forty isn’t the new twenty. It’s still forty. Or in my case, forty-one, almost forty-two.
As much as I would love to tell you that I feel like I’m in my twenties, that would be a LIE. Sure, my brain sometimes thinks I’m still twenty-something, maybe thirty-something, but as soon as my body gets the message, it just laughs and laughs.
1. You make plans to do the thing.
You know. The THING. IT. You’ve been reading articles/listening to Podcasts from Bad Girls Bible, whatever it’s called for Bad Boys, Cosmo, watching porn…whatever your thing is. Hell, The Joy of Sex, I don’t care. Whatever floats your boat. You’ve found the perfect thing that is going to BLOW your partner’s mind (pun intended). So you shave it all up, scrub all the pertinent parts, smell extra nice. And if that doesn’t just wear you out, you make it to sexy time. Wooo hooo!
And something pops that shouldn’t. You get a charlie horse. Your hip cramps up. Something cramps up. Something fucking happens, and it isn’t the fucking you wanted, trust me.
No, it doesn’t happen every time, thank the gods, but it seems to happen a lot more often than it used to. Let’s just say, rain checks shouldn’t be for the bedroom, folks.
2. Your arms get shorter.
Not really, you just can’t fucking read anything unless you hold it out at arm’s length. And arm’s length just isn’t far enough away. I have worn glasses since the third grade. I can’t see far away. Well now, I can’t see up close, either, apparently. I hadn’t really taken note of it, I was just doing it. Taking off my glasses and holding my phone right up to my face and squinting to read. Moving things further away and closer to my face, back and forth, trying to focus. I recently went to the eye doctor, and while doing the “One or two”, she flipped down the bifocal lens and things got better. She chuckled and said, “Really, that’s better?” I said yes, much better. She said do you read a lot? I said yes ma’am, all the time. She said well, I’ll give you a choice. I can write your prescription for bifocals, or tell you what strength to get for separate readers.
So, I have bifocals on the way. I guess I’m officially old.
3. When you’re out in public with your toddler, people think you’re a grandparent.
Yeah, this is my favorite one, right up there with people thinking that my husband is my son. Yep, happens all the time. My husband is 26. The two year old isn’t my bio child, but that is completely beside the point. Don’t assume. It makes you an ass.
4. Speaking of THINGS, you still want to do all the things. But you can’t.
Or at least, I can’t. My mind still runs at about a million miles per hour. My body, however, does not. My brain thinks there needs to be about 48 hours in a day, and that I need to be doing something for approximately 50 of those hours. Doesn’t add up, does it? My poor, broken body thinks there should be about 10 hours in a day, and that I should be sleeping or at least relaxing, approximately 12 of those.
5. The best way to laugh at yourself?
Or at least chuckle? Take a moment. Remember all the times you thought, man, my mom/dad/grandparent is so addle brained? Why are they writing things down? Why can’t they remember anything? Why are they going through every child’s name in the family? Etc. Yeah, that’s you now, isn’t it? I know it’s me. If I don’t write it down, or put it in Notes in my phone, or the calendar, it doesn’t happen. Hell, it still doesn’t happen sometimes because I forget to set a reminder.
Welcome to your forties. Grab your Bengay/Tiger Balm, notepads/pens, invest in a massage package, try not to give a shit what anyone else thinks, and enjoy the ride.