Last night, as I was hugging my son goodnight, he shared, “You’re skin used to be softer.” Love you too, darling! But he’s not alone. A while back, my daughter walked in after I’d stepped out of the shower, catching an eye-full of my backside. Her comment, “Oh, Momma.” And it wasn’t a, “Oh, Momma, we need to start walking.” No, this was more like, “Oh, Momma, I’m so sorry you lost your leg in the war.”
When my husband turned fifty, I made a horror film for him. (Camp Reformation – went straight to DVD). At the end, the killer is revealed. She wears a sweatshirt marked “50.” When her twin (the non-evil one) asks her why she’s murdered all the teenage campers, the psycho explains, “Because getting old is a bitch!”
Oh, I thought that was a great line at the time (I was forty-two.) Turns out…not so funny. Truth never is.
Yes, from an emotional standpoint, aging is a wonderful thing. You’ve lived through enough experiences to know that life is cyclical, that there are tough patches, but they will pass. You begin to understand what’s worth arguing about or accepting and moving on. You look at supposedly mundane activities – the family sitting around the table, eating spaghetti and not arguing – and realize it’s a special moment.
But the physical side is harsh. As my daughter made VERY clear, hineys do not age like fine wine. Now, when my peers talk about their implants, they’re referring to dental work, which is probably for the best. Let’s face it, at a certain point, breast augmentations are a little ridiculous. I mean if you take an old, sagging pillow case filled with flour, then add a grapefruit, is it really going to look any better?
Fortunately, I’ve been blessed with a wonderful husband that eases the pain of this downhill journey. Maybe he’s delusional or just a very smart man, but he still tells me I have a great body. Of course, there’s also the fact that he’s legally blind without his glasses. Doesn’t really matter. As long as those babies come off before I put on the Barry White, I can put JLo to shame.