Growing Old.

Life just seems to whip past, doesn't it?! And it happens regardless of whether or not you're 'having fun'.

With my 29th birthday quickly approaching (for the 10th time), I've realized that I may be getting old. First of all, I'm the Mom to 3 kids - aged 14, 8 and 6. FOURTEEN!! I've been a Mom for 14 years. How insane is that?! And . . . she's still alive. Heck, *I* am still alive. For something that didn't come with an instruction manual, I think I've done a pretty good job. Especially considering my track record with other 'live' things (plants! I defintely don't have a green thumb . . . in fact it's about as 'black' as they come. *I* can even kill a cactus).

The reality is simple. I AM getting old.

Suddenly my kids make reference to my childhood as the 'olden' days - as though I've run with the dinosaurs, or as if *I* personally ate the forbidden apple in the Garden of Eden. According to my teenager, my life experiences as a teen are an irrelevant moot point - because "things have changed SO much since then". For real? THAT much has changed in 20 years? I mean 20 years ago we rode in planes, cars, and buses; talked on the phone; watched television; watched movies; went to school and socialized. AND? I thought my parents were pretty stupid. Is it REALLY that different? Comparing things myself, I'd say not, but according to the teens of today, apparently it IS different. I don't know the exact moment that I was considered old by my kids, but I suspect it might have something to do with those grey hairs that I finally just left alone in my head. I used to pluck them out as fast as I could find them, but they seemed to come back overnight, so I just gave up.

On the topic of hair, grey's are actually the LEAST of my worries. I've also noted some other 'hairy' differences. Like the fact that I'm thinning A LOT. I lose handfuls of hair each day. AND . . . I have it in places I didn't before. Like on my chin. And my upper lip. Banshee often points out my 'moustache'. So much in fact that I've had to start bleaching it. I'm nervous about waxing and such because I definitely don't want to become Sideshow Momma at the circus because of my full 'stache and such. I DO pluck the hairs on my chin because if I didn't, I could likely braid them. And that would be gross.

My body isn't as resilient as it once was either. I've always had issues with weight, but have always quite easily taken it off (when I put my mind to it). Now? Not so much. I'm trying SO hard to remove weight right now and although I AM being successful, it's slow. Much slower than I'd like. When I hurt myself or get sick, recovery takes a lot longer. Either that, or I just get sick or hurt more often. Which is possible. I've become very clutzy in my older 'fragile' state. You know - breaking pyrex dishes and all. And of course I have 3 kids of my own and look after a few others, so I AM exposed to more 'sickness'.

I try to do as much with my kids as I can. I LOVE spending time with them and sharing moments that I enjoyed as a kid with them. Kind of reliving my youth I suppose. I know that someday in the not-so-distant future, they're not going to want to do things with their embarrasing and decrepit old Mother; that they'll choose hanging out with their friends. Unfortunately, I've become accutely aware of some 'changes' resulting from 'A-G-I-N-G'. Although the prgression has been slow, I HAVE noticed that there are things that I'm not-so capable of anymore. Like rollercoaster riding. At one point I was a rollercoaster fiend - I could go over and over again, spin, flip, shake and not even feel a twinge of anything in my gut save for excitement. I had an iron gut. Now? Not so much. It's a dicey situation. The fun-side of my brain and my heart WANT to go, but my tummy and sensible-side of my brain do not. Fun overrules sensibility almost every time, and I get on that ride and go; and as I disembark the ride doing EVERYTHING in my power to keep the contents of my stomach right where they belong, sensibility screams out "I TOLD YOU SO!". Sitting on the ground to play is almost impossible for any sort of extended time. I CAN do it, but my legs and butt cheeks get all numb and stiff. And getting up isn't always pretty. The days of 'jumping' up are LONG gone. Now it's just a most ungraceful movement that most people just turn their heads from so they don't have to witness it.

I also have aches and pains. I have had problems with my knees since I was a teen, but now, adding insult to injury, I have arthritis. And . . . from prolonged overcompensation for my knees, my hips are a mess - you know - kind of a two-for-one deal. And my tailbone? Yeah, that's still a mess, and my wrists, and my toe (don't get me started on my toe . . . as I type my toe is a raging itchy mess from an allergic reaction to the stitches. Stitches that they have sufficiently scared me enough into believing that I NEED to keep in until at least Friday. 3 more days from now. 3 days of itching, swelling and hives that is certain to challenge my fragile emotional state) and . . . and . . . and. I want to ride a bike with my kids, but it kills my knees and is, well, a pain in the ass. Literally. Simple things like bending over illicits an unsolicited verbal "oomph" as I do it. The sound is just a natural part of bending or moving now. Almost as natural as the fact that the same movements are accompanied by a 'buttful' of air as well. This very same act that used to HORRIFY me when my parents did it when I was a teenager, and here we are, coming full circle with ME doing the same thing.

Years ago, I spent a great deal of time fixing my hair just so; applying make up; wearing 'certain' clothes; and wearing all sorts of fancy smelling perfumes, creams and powders. Now, if I get a shower every single day, it's considered a 'bonus'. My hair is tossed in ponytail or messy bun; or left to dry when the towel falls off my head after a shower. Clothes are anything that actually fit on that day (because that changes day to day. H-E-L-L-O water retention!!) and are comfortable (believe me . . . I TOTALLY understand why elderly folk opt for elastic waistbands and polyester. It's ALL about comfort. And easy accessibility when nature calls - because when you've gotta go - you've gotta go!!!). Make up includes chapstick and sometimes some concealer to hide a hideous hormonally spawned zit or the excessive baggage under my eyes. The only smelly things are Bengay and gold bond foot powder. Oh yeah . . . it's sexy alright!!! Special creams include those that I use to 'cure' the massive splits and cracks on my heels and and hands, and that I use to "reverse the signs of aging". So far, those signs are still there, loud and clear; continuing forwards as quickly as ever.

Not that I'm into it anymore (because I'm WAY beyond that aspect of my life), but I'm considered "advanced maternal age". Really?! I'm not over the hill yet, but according to "them" (who exactly, I don't know, but I'm guessing they're a bunch of men) my body is less able to carry a baby in a healthy manner. It's considered 'risky' at my age to get pregnant and deliver a child. Let's analyze this a little more closely . . . they think that I'm too old to carry a baby INSIDE my body, but they feel that it's perfectly OK for me to parent a teenager. Really?! Pregnancy seems easy comparitively.

When I was younger I could stay up til all hours of the morning partying, and still get up for an 8:00am class. While I'm not entirely proud to admit it, there were weeks, heck, months that we were out partying almost every single night, and I still survived. Today? Not a chance. If I drink more than 1 glass of wine in an evening, the entire next day is screwed. If I drink to the point of being downright drunk, I can kiss the next few days goodbye, and can be found praying to the porcelain gods in the bathroom. When the kids were much younger, I could be up late; get up numerous times during the night, and STILL function the next day (the quality of the functioning is definitely negotiable, but I WAS functioning). Nowadays, I still have Banshee up and down most nights and it downright almost kills me. Because of the above mentioned aches and pains, I have troubles sleeping at night as it is, then add in stress and worry about the kids, the sounds and odours from the other 'sleepers' in this house and then the up and downs of Banshee, well, sleep isn't an easy feat. Many days I go through the motions not really knowing how I coped. I suppose my body and mind is trained enough to work through it - like cruise control. I desperately crave sleep, and feel the effects of the deprivation more and more with each passing day. That said, when I DO have the chance to sleep in, I can't. My body is used to waking up numerous times during the night, and to rousing early. It's not uncommon to see my family sleep in on a Saturday morning while I'm busy slaving away doing laundry and mopping. And napping? Never. I have WAY too much to do in a day than to waste it on sleeping. I guess more than sleep, I just need more hours in a day.

In my younger years, entertainment came in much different forms. Partying; going to the movies; all nighters with friends; camping; roadtrips. Current entertainment has completely changed. Suddenly sleeping in a tent on the hard ground surrounded by bugs and critters is NOT my idea of fun. Camping includes a cabin or a trailer. I could never sit up to watch a sunrise anymore, heck . . . I'm lucky if I'm still 'awake' enough to see a sunSET. Our 'movie' time has shifted to the early show, so I can be safely and happily ensconsed in my blankets blissfully sleeping by 11:00. Road trips include cross border shopping for the kids and staying in a hotel that doesn't have cockroaches floating all about it.

Even my television viewing tastes have also changed. Although I don't watch the news often (I honestly find it VERY depressing), when I do, I find myself doing EXACTLY the same thing that my father did to me when I was a kid . . . I "shush" the kids while I intently listen to the doom and gloom in the world. I also watch more 'real people' programs instead of animated programs. Cartoons aren't even funny anymore; in fact, they kind of aggravate me. I watch programs that are 'real life' based and find myself commisserating, empathizing and sympathazing with the characters; hoping against hope that I don't ever find myself in a similar situation.

Anyway, here I am, pushing closer towards another decade. Suddenly I'm realizing that I'm not as young and able-bodied as I once was. I've realized that I can't blame anything on being 'young and naive'. I'm officially well into the 'responsible and contributing' adult stage. I need to seriously consider life at the 'other end' of the spectrum. Retirement investment is therefore VERY important. I'm definitely not at the stage where I'm slowly shuffling in my custom built slip on shoes up the hallway with a walker, all decked out in my polyester outfit bejewelled with this mornings breakfast and a Depends that should have been changed hours ago; with my WAY too bright red lipstick; all the while my hearing aids are whistling and squealing, but . . . I'm on my way. Weather is common topic of conversation. New appliances excite me. Staying up past 11:00 is considered a remarkable feat. Wills have been written. I've set up RRSP's and life insurance; I go for annual medical appointments and almost every year they 'find' something else wrong. I need to get my ears tested; I could afford a pair of bifocals (but I'm resisting); winter weather is NOT friendly to me; I can tell when it's going to get colder or rain simply by the aching in my joints; I'm all about comfort; people call me "ma'am"; I get offered a seat on the subway; I'm greying; my musical likes are played on the 'classics' stations; and in general, I'm 'slower'.

Yep . . . I'm on my way. Whether I like it or not, I'm getting older. My kids are right, I am NOT part of the wave considered to be "young and hip".

Although . . . the hip part is right - except my hips hurt.