My fingers have been itching to type so here goes.
Speaking of itchy, why is it that now that I have hit the big “6-0”, a lot of stuff related to my body and it’s functions have suddenly started changing?
These issues include: tiny lines creeping in around and under my eyes, on my forehead and corners of my mouth, slightly sagging jowls that are just beginning to droop (makes me resemble our high school Bulldog mascot for Heaven’s sake), dark tiny red dots that appear randomly on my face mimicking connect the dot drawings that we did in grade school, the whites of my eyes now red and burning with fuzzy vision staring back at me, missing and discolored teeth, yellowed skin that looks like it’s melting from ultra-violet rays emitted from the bathroom lights that making me look like I have hepatitis, and earlobes that are stretch to my shoulders. My nose appears to be growing ever longer(well, ears and noses actually do continue growing all of our lives but that’s another story…) and my breasts continue their descent into my knee region.
Then there’s the dreaded skin tags, cysts, liver spots, warts, and moles which manifest on my face, neck, shoulders, arms and just about anywhere else on the body that tends to be seen by others. I could do a whole documentary on these age-related bonuses. I thought that whales were the only ones who have barnacles…
Bulging blue veins and purple spider patterns are now making their way across my lower legs and upper thighs. I look down and see blue veined feet, ones just like my Mother’s thin-skinned red-haired friend Millie. She had the veiniest blue feet which always fascinated me. As a kid, I had always wish that I would NEVER have feet like hers. Guess I didn’t wish hard enough.
The cellulite on the front of my thighs that used to be firm is now starting to resemble large containers of melting, curdled cottage cheese, especially my left thigh which seems to have gotten a larger serving of cheese than my right.
That “waddle-thing” that hangs down underneath my upper arm showed up gradually over time. I noticed it one day when I was vigorously waving good-bye to some friends (whom I was happy to see leaving). That waddle makes a a sound unlike anything else, except fat thighs slapping together or two people’s bodies coming together when they are having vigorous, incredible sex. I kind of enjoy thinking about the later part of that sentence.
Droopy breasts that sweat underneath more than my actual armpits do happens nearly every day and the eternal belly-bulge from two C-sections and a hysterectomy, the belly resting on top of my thighs when it is really tired. Should of hit the surgeon up for a tummy-tuck during the last child’s birth, I suppose.
My feet have gotten so wide that they look like Fred Flintstone feet and I am at least two sizes larger in my shoe size. My swollen ankles which were big to begin with are now officially “cankles” making me look like I retain too much fluid 24/7. Doctors don’t understand that they were like this even when I was a kid, No, I’m not retaining fluid, thank you.
I hate my wrinkled feet and toes that overnight, became something akin to the skin on a shrunken head. Seriously, they look like they need to be ironed. Polishing my toe nails which I still manage to do, is now like attempting a contortionistic maneuver. OK, I know it’s really cause I’m fat but I’ll be damned if I’ll give up wearing toe-nail polish, fat or not. So I wrench my back but at least my toe nails look great.
I’m fairly vision-challenged these days until I put on my glasses. Most of the time I have misplaced the glasses themselves and can’t find them unless I have my glasses on to look for them. Can anyone else relate to this? And we’re not just talking one pair here. One pair of glasses are for close-up, one pair for watching TV and one pair for driving. Sorry but I believe that bifocals are for old people and besides, I tried them for five minutes and they made me feel like I was going to throw-up. I’ll stick to the inconvenience of three separate pairs which I rotate through more than a couple of times a day.
I have experienced slower reflexes when driving or when attempting to do any problem-solving either physically or mentally. Everyone younger than me drives like a lunatic and everyone older should get the Hell out of my way. Any technical/computer problems I that I can’t handle get resolved by my computer savvy hubby or son so I no longer have any problems. At lease until five minutes from now.
I’m like a Sloth when trying to get into or out of any vehicle (my impatient son reminds me of how I need to “hurry up” during this process) so even though my brain believes that I’m going faster, my slow-motion movements stay the same. OK, I say, get off my back, Son, I’m moving as fast as I can and for God’s sake, I’m SIXTY. Maybe the rest of the world is happening just to quickly and I can’t keep up. Either way, I’m a day late and a dollar short.
Some days it feels like someone is placing slow-drying adhesive on all of my joints, muscles and bones, just a drop or two every day while I’m asleep, to intentionally slow me down.
This is another interesting thing. The noise of my own breathing, when I am quietly reading a book or attempting to watch TV or even sleep, really gets on my nerves now. It never bothered me in the past when I was 75 pounds lighter and 40 years younger. But now I sound like a bad impersonation of Darth Vader. I know it’s probably the extra weight again but we already covered that, didn’t we?
The Rosecea on my fair-skinned cheeks, nose and chin now makes me look like a completely inebriated drunk (no, I don’t drink, thank you very much) so that in photos I am the person that looks completely shit-faced. Never hard to pick me out in a group photo, I’m the one who’s face is lit up like an electric tomato.
My hair has begun to thin on top and along the hairline (only one side which look fashionable) and you can now see my bright pink scalp where lots and lots of hair used to be. If I tease my hair a lot and spray it with a bunch of hairspray, it will fill in the gaps if I am lucky and the wind doesn’t blow. If I tease it too much, that hair then falls out in my hand making for more pink scalp showing through. I thought only men got bald as they aged, boy, am I naive.
The outer half of both my eyebrows fell off about a number of years ago. The main remaining hairs have spread across my brow-bone like a patch of weeds gone wild with an agenda all their own. I’ve got eyebrow hairs where there was never any eyebrow hairs to begin with. I’m ready to just shave the damn things and pencil them in like Elizabeth Taylor or Whoopy Goldberg. At least I have been blessed and not grown a dark mustache as some women do as they age, mine is pale blonde and sparse and just a few painful plucks from the tweezers and I’m as good as new. For this blessing, I am truly grateful.
I was absentmindedly looking down at my arms the other night, and was horrified to find two separate patches of dark hairs growing on the top part of both of my lower arms, just below where my arm bends, identical to each other. I freaked out and imagined myself being like Jeff Goldblum in the movie The Fly, only these were on my arms, not on my back, where they could be viewed by God and everybody else. All my life the hairs on my arms have always been blonde for some reason, even though I am (well, was) a brunette. So, I (stupidly) took a pair of small dull scissors and went to my giant magnifying lamp that I use during craft projects, and proceeded to cut them all off. Big mistake. I had red painful bumps all over both my arms for days and look like I had a persistent case of mange. And then they itched for days. Guess it’s time to see my cousin who does electrolysis or stop the self-cutting.
I no longer have a waist at all, where cleavage once was, there is a massive cavern and my once perky rear-end now spreads upward, downward and outward; kind of like a melting bowl of Jello, to fill in all the gaps of whatever chair I am attempting to fit into. I suspect my rump now resembles Jabba the Hut’s face when I bend over to towel-dry myself after taking my shower these days. Scary thought, even for me.
I’ve also learned that I need to pee when my brain says its time to pee and I need to make that sooner than later, thank you very much. Sneezing takes on a whole new response from”God Bless You” to “God Wet You”. I need to poop when my brain says it’s time to poop or I won’t poop again for several days, Sphincter-Muscle Revenge is a medical condition all it’s own.
And these things are not just happening to me.
My husband’s back is growing enough extra hair on it to make a full toupee for where he is losing all the hair in the middle of his head. We are truly grateful so that he can finally stop styling his hair with the comb-over technique and hope to transplant the hair soon. Speaking of backs, I have this one spot on my upper back that never, and I mean never, stops itching. Even if someone rakes their nails across that spot, my skin will still stay in a constant state of itch.
Speaking of itching, how can we forget the joy of Rectal Itching (usually, but not always needing relief when you are deep in sleep and you end up dreaming about it or the urge hits you while you are out in public), Va-Jay-Jay Itching (as Oprah calls it), Nasal Itching, Eyes Itching, Ear Itching (Thank God for the forbidden Q-Tips), Scalp Itching, Between-The-Toes Itching, Jock Itching, Bottom Of Your Foot Itching (which always happens AFTER you have put your shoe on). I have a theory that all of this itching happens because everything currently on us is drying up like scabs, getting ready to fall off. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong.
We all know that these things happened to our Parents as they aged, but not to us, right? Wrong.
My Daddy had bones/joints that popped and made cracking sounds when he would get up to tip toe down the hall to use the bathroom at night. I always knew where he was by the snap, crackle, pop going on out in the dark hallway. No wonder I never slept well when I was young. Now MY joints are doing the same damn thing and it hurts like Hell. Funny, he never complained of any pain with this malady.
As Mom aged, she saved rubber bands and aluminum foil and only showered like once a week. Need I say more???
In the past, I would sometimes forget WHY I came into a room to do something then remember why I was there, and just continue with that task or project. Now I walk into a room and I just can’t remember why I went in there in the first place, period. Scary shit.
My rear end unfortunately now seems to have a mind and opinion all it’s own, so does my bladder. No more skillfully suppressing farts, they just come out whenever they feel like it, with no regard to where I am or who’s around me. Same with taking a leak, one good cough or sneeze and it’s instant pee or fart time. Turned the faucet on about a month ago and it was suddenly like Pavlov’s theory, my bladder heard the command “Let Go” and so it did. Unfortunately I was standing right in the middle of my kitchen at the time. While cleaning up, images of rows and rows of Depends flashed through my mind. Don’t even get me started about bowel changes, we’ll be here all day…
The weirdest thing of all is that my belly-button is no longer in the center of my body. I noticed it in the shower one day. The chiropractor moved my tail-bone back to it’s proper position about six months ago (it had gone south for the winter from a childhood injury many years ago) and when he did this, for some reason, my belly-button resumed it’s place of honor back in the center of my body. Now it seems that it has moved “left” again, on its own apparently, so when I look down at it while in the shower now, it’s not in it’s place in line between my gravity-pulled-earth-bound-three-foot-long-sagging-boobs anymore. It’s extremely left of center and bother the Hell out of me. Back to the chiropractor for another realignment I guess. Who would have guessed that my tailbone had the ability to relocate my damn belly-button?
Now I realize of course, that maybe everyone else who’s 60 doesn’t feel this way or experience these things. I also know that I am not in the prime of my life any longer or the best physical condition (understatement of the year) but overall, I think I still look OK for my age albeit the excess weight. Well, certain parts of me look great but you’ll have to squint your eyes to block out the parts that don’t quite make the grade. Then I look pretty damn good.
At least I can still feed myself, dress myself and take my own showers without assistance (although it is a challenge to reach and clean certain parts on me these days, oh sorry; too much information) but check back with me at 65 and maybe things will have changed. Or fallen off. Or gotten much more saggy. Or wrinkled way beyond recognition. Or I won’t even remember who you are, so I wouldn’t be posting this blog anyway. Oh, 70 should really be a real blast…
See ya later, Alligators…