Mid-Life Crisis (Now Available in Petite Sizes)

During one of my check-in phone calls with my mom (there are, on average, about three or four a week, unless in the case of a social/fashion/gossip emergency and then there may be more), she relayed that she had seen a family friend of mine in the grocery store and wished him a happy 40th birthday. She then informed my friend that I had "a really hard time" when I turned 40 back in April. I did? This was something I didn't recall or maybe didn't realize. Or maybe, as my Southern mama has been known to tell me from time to time when she embellishes, "it makes for a better story."

I thought that turning 40 would be the hard part: saying goodbye to my thirties, checking this new box and belonging to a different age demographic. Instead, I went to Tahiti, stayed in that overwater bungalow, drank umbrella drinks, and celebrated. My life nor my body immediately fell apart overnight and I was reassured. I've got this. And that's what life wants you to think when it's plotting against you.

I've had a doctor's appointment of some shape or size every week since the beginning of June. It seems that when you age, this is not uncommon. I've had migraine doctor visits, mammograms (wow, am I glad to be part of that club now), annual physicals, and one "concern visit" of a personal-yet-horrifying nature that was resolved, thankfully but embarrassingly with a diagnosis to apply Neosporin. Good grief.

One night we went out to dinner and had such slow service that I unintentionally downed three glasses of wine and woke up the next morning with a horrible headache--when did that become a consequence of imbibing? I ate hot dogs and potato chips on the 4th of July and wound up with indigestion and esophageal spasms for four days afterward, which not only made me feel as if I had swallowed fire but caused me to adhere to a soft, bland diet out of sheer fear. A couple of weeks ago, I had a weird reaction to a lobster roll--a food I have enjoyed without incident my entire life up to this point--and woke up with a rash all over the side of my face and neck.

"Just wait until you're 50," people keep saying. If the current circumstances persist, I'll be lucky to make it that long, y'all. My friend Jason and I often joke that we're here for a good time, not a long time. I'm starting to think that might not be a bad mantra after all. The wheels are coming off the train, and I'm starting to feel like I'm in a bit of a crisis over here. I've been questioning my purpose and what I'm doing with myself quite a bit lately, and feeling uncharacteristically anxious. A quick Google search turned up what I was looking for: I do have, however mild, the symptoms of a midlife crisis. I haven't exactly gone out and bought a candy apple red Corvette or anything, so maybe my crisis is a petite version. Who is this person? This forty-year old, aching, paining, complaining person looking back at me in the mirror as I slather on wrinkle cream?

Upon inspection, I'm the one my neighbor's college-aged kid calls "ma'am," even though I protest. I am practically his age after all (in my mind)...I'm a peer, not a ma'am. I'm the one who walks into a room and then immediately forgets what she came for, the one who now religiously takes a fistful of multivitamins each evening, the one who now (for the first time ever) appreciates a good nap. I'm the one who still feels like the 90s were ten years ago, not almost twenty years ago. The one who still looks for the adult in the room when something goes wrong, before realizing with a sinking feeling that I am the adult in the room.

I'm also the same big-haired, loud-mouthed, Clemson-loving, taco-craving, carbohydrate addict I've always been. I still can't resist the lure of anything sparkly, still love a good scary movie, and live for Saturday mornings when I can sleep in. I never met a brunch I didn't like, I'm deathly afraid of birds, and I will not eat meat that is on the bone.

And while I now realize that I'm not exactly changing the world by being a stay-at-home dog mom, I'm going to keep doing my thing. I'll be over here talking too much, eating too much, trying the latest fad diet, being the occasional drama queen, doing my best to love people (even the idiots) and trying even harder to just appreciate what I have and not get too far ahead of myself. Oh, and of course I'll keep blogging, too, which means you can be sure I'll keep you updated. Stay tuned. Wink.

What you talkin' 'bout, forty?