Now that I have had a chance to live in my fourth decade it’s becoming quite clear why many people my age go through a mid-life crisis.
While I never had a “perfect body” (whatever that definition may be), it was fine. It was mine. Despite the decade of sleep deprivation and gallons of alcohol consumed in my 20s, I recovered. I recovered after having three babies, even to the point of completing three half marathons.
But my 40s?
That’s a completely different and foreign decade altogether. Mother Nature pushed and pulled, tugged and stretched everything attached to me. Clothes don’t fit the way they used to even though I’m the same weight.
My hair has a mind of its own after a lifetime of being the blackest black and stubbornly straight for a lifetime.
I wouldn’t mind having sweat circles if my armpits didn’t decide to have an odor and perspiration purge overnight.
I always thought it was weird that women on TV always put lotion on their hands right before bed. I still view it as weird and now I have to engage in a similar ritual. My heels are always cracked, painfully so. My elbows and hands are in a constant state of ash.
It was bad enough I had painful and ugly cystic acne when I was in junior high but now I have to go through it again? That is, if I can see them around the smallest lines around my mouth. Thank goodness for anti-aging creams and sunblock without which my skin would be in a worse state.
I used to see my father scratching at his scalp constantly. Decades later I have to manage psoriasis that is mostly irritating and rarely painful with a scary looking tube of steroids! It’s almost worst that it’s on my scalp because it makes my dry scalp that much worse.
I cannot wait for this decade to pass.