I need to put this somewhere, so why not here?
Yesterday, while being absolutely disgusted with myself for having a beer when I didn't intend to have one, I noticed something on my upper thigh. What could that be?
I've had a small group of them on one leg for several years. I dealt with the shock then, and every time I see them, it isn't a big deal.
Yes, well, this is on the OTHER leg, and it's a very LARGE grouping, and I've never seen it before, not even in progress.
It just kind of hit me then, like a sledgehammer, that I'm getting older.
Not OLD, good heavens, I'm not that vapid, but older. I'm aging. I have dark half-circles and slight bags under my eyes, spider veins on my legs, it's harder to lose fat, my body hurts more often, and my vision is getting worse.
I just kind of crumpled. It's like adding lemon juice to the wound. I'm already struggling with firmly rooted bad habits and my inability to lose weight at the drop of a hat, but then to see garish blue and black squiggles in a place they weren't before.... Even stretch marks didn't bother me this much.
So I went and curled up on my bed (being bed time), buried my face in the pillow, and had a little cry with the cat laying close by. I petted him and he purred, oblivious.
A few minutes later, Mike walked in. We've been married long enough that we can enter a room and just TELL if there's something bothering the other person. It can be nice, but sometimes it can be really annoying. Like right then. I didn't want him to know there was yet another thing eating away at me. He's already listened to my complaints and worries about my teeth, my weight, my job.
So he asked me, "What's wrong?"
I shrugged as a reply, further proving I was, indeed, bothered by something. So he asked again.
I told him, and started tearing up, just a tiny bit.
He responded, "Honey, it's something that comes with age. It's normal. You're just getting older."
"I know," I wailed, and hid my face.
He sat down on the bed next to me, petted my hair, and said that he thought I was beautiful, and that he'd rather grow old with me than stay 16 and stupid forever.
I snickered and said, "No way to I want to be 16 forever. Sixteen was a bad year for me - car accident with whiplash, Bell's Palsy, the root canal from hell. No, I'd rather be 25 forever." I paused, then added, "I wouldn't want to be 25 and stupid forever, though. I guess we trade wisdom for beauty, right?"
He smiled and called me a beautiful, mature woman, said that I'm not a girl anymore, and declared that he loved me and was happy to be married to me. He also said a few things to make me blush, thus I won't repeat them here. :)
So, I guess mentally calling myself 30 before I actually am isn't enough to prepare for getting older. Yet another thing with which to grapple. At least now I have a reasonable excuse for taking naps and choosing to stay home on a Friday or Saturday night. *wry grin.