35 going on senile

I was talking to my 6-year-old daughter about which medical schools she would like to apply to when she’s older, omg not really we were talking about sidewalk chalk but a mom can dream, when she suddenly paused and asked: “What are all those stripes on your forehead?” I swear that 35 years of not moisturizing and smothering my face with SPF just bitched slapped me, because those stripes she was talking about are the wrinkles that are adorning my forehead. Nicole Kidman would SO not approve.

"You're right. I would SO not approve."

Stop judging me Nicole Kidman!

Up until now, my daughters had only noticed the “beautiful freckles” on my face, and by freckles I mean sun spots.

My freckled face as seen by my super talented daughter.

My freckled face as seen by my super talented daughter.

Never in my life have I worried about the obvious fact that I am getting older; not when I turned 18 – OMG like I’m totally old; or when I turned 25 – what’s a quarter of a century anyway?; or when I turned 30 – 30’s is the new 20’s that’s my motto. But 36 is creeping up on me and I’m NOT all too happy about it. The only comfort I get is that the people I hang out with are 3 and 6 years old (seriously, I need grown up friends), and really, the age perception of kids is a beautiful thing, specially when they think I’m 25 and trust me, I’m NOT about to correct them.

I am convinced that I’m aging at supersonic speed, all within 6 months, last time I checked I was not celebrating my 35th birthday, now in a few months I’ll be 36 which rounded to the nearest tenth is 40 which practically makes me a middle-aged woman, and no, I’m not ready to start antiquing. My gray hairs are growing like weeds, not only do I see a new one every day, but they have completely invaded my head and I can’t keep up with the tweezing. And because of the constant tweezing I now think I have carpal tunnel and in need of urgent surgery.  I had 3 slices of pizza the other day and my stomach got so swollen the thought that I was pregnant and probably about to give birth in the bathtub even crossed my mind. “You need to stop eating like a college student” says my husband, of course he does, because he cooks like the Culinary Gods and I cook like a 5-year-old and if it were up to me I would live on Ramen Noodles. So basically, eating my daughter’s leftovers and complementing them with Oreos isn’t going to cut it anymore because my old, old digestive system can’t handle it. I also sometimes have this for lunch:

vending machine

Skittles count as fruit right?

Besides the fact that my body is probably a geriatric one, the other day I was trying to open my front door with the car keys, I even pressed the panic button to see if the door would just swing opened. It didn’t. I call my daughter 18 different names before she says “you know my name is Antonella, YOU named me.” Alzheimer is it you knocking?? CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE DIAGNOSE ME?? Oh, and I have TMJ. I saw my symptoms online so it must be true.

So if you’re looking for me this summer, you can either find me at the dermatologist getting a chemical peel or frantically rubbing my face with lemons, getting liposuction because God knows I’m too lazy to hit the gym, at CVS stocking up on boxes of hair color and at the geriatric psychiatrist for weekly evaluations and if all else fails just come knocking on my door at the retirement home.

Bingo anyone?

I'm the one wearing the pantyhose.

See that empty chair? They’re already saving me a spot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*After carefully reviewing the costs of all these procedures, I have forcefully decided to age gracefully.

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