Never Give Up, Never Give In. Well, At Least Not Yet.

I was 35 when my youngest child was born. During that pregnancy, I noticed all sorts of side effects that were new to me since I'd had my youngest son 14 years before. Anytime I asked the doctor why this or why that was happening (becuase it hadn't happened in my earlier pregnancies), he would preceed his answer with, "As we age..." It drove me nuts. "35 isn't that old, for Pete's sake," I'd think.

That was 33 years ago and, pregnancy aside, I notice that with more years under my belt comes more maintenance. For example, I used to just grab my car keys and skedaddle when I wanted to go somewhere. Now I have to throw on a little makeup (which I don't wear around the house), find clothes that are suitable for the public (as opposed to the same mismatched slop-arounds I've worn for three days straight), and do something with my hair (it's usually eather just hanging or pinned in a knot atop my head). Then I have to search for shoes, (I'm always barefooted at home). At this point I look presentable at best, whereas in the good old days I'd leave the house without giving it a second thought, and always look perfectly fine with no effort at all. That's what youth does for you.

Now, once I've worked at an appearance that at least won't scare people, I move to the next phase of leaving home. I search for my car keys. Sometimes they're in my purse but rarely, and even at that I also have trouble finding my purse! Once I have it and my keyes in tow, the search begins for my cell phone. I can't remember where I used it last. So anywhere from 30 to 45 minutes after I've decided to head out, I actually walk through the door. Not looking or feeling like a million bucks, mind you, but passing for human, at least.

In my hay day I'd be out and about having given no thought at all to garnering attention, yet heads would turn. Wolf whistles annoyed me. "Honestly. Men," I'd think. Now if I hear a guy whistle in my direction it's either because my daughter or grown granddaughters are with me, or I look over my shoulder to see who's walking behind me.

Now I have to avoid many of my favorite foods and exercise just to maintain my weight, which is more than I'd like it to be but I'm actually into a smaller size than a few years ago. I used to be able to eat anything and lots of it, and my only exercise was from cleaning my whole house in one day, chasing after my kids, and once in awhile galavanting about. If the galavanting about involved makeup, I'd hit the hay afterwards without washing my face, wake up with a smeared face but still looking ten years younger than my actual age.

Now I have speacial nighttime cleanser. Special cream for undereye puffiness. Special cream for wrinkles, special cream for age spots. Body lotion too, of course, with Q10 for firming. Does all this work? I don't know. But it smells good. If I do it right I go to bed looking and feeling like a greased monkey. I also have sunblock for daytime, and moisturizer of course. Am I religious about this regimen? Alas, no. It's a luxury that I sometimes allow myself, but more often than not just washing my face is a major accomplishment in the morning and at night I fall asleep watching TV and figure I'm doing well just to make it to the bedroom without Frank's support and guidance.

I won't even get started on the assortment of vitamins and other supplements I now ingest. I used to snack on M&M's, but now... it's pill popping and trying to remember to drink lots of water every day. (Trying, of course, implies something short of success.)

And when I do get dressed to go out, can I just throw on something and run? No. My jeans can't be too tight or too loose, and sometimes jeans are no longer appropriate at my age. My shirts have to have sleeves to cover my flabby tricept area, and if there are buttons in front I almost always discard it for an alternate choice because the opening will most certainly gap across my chest area. If I'm em>really getting dolled up, can I wear the spike heels that make legs look shapelier? Oh no. Must wear sensible heels in order to walk safely. (Okay, I'll be honest. Sometimes I still wear the spikes, but only for an event where I know I can literally be on Frank's arm the entire time. I say to him, "Under NO circumstances can you let go of me!"

Sometimes I resent all the effort it takes to try to stay ahead of the years that have accrued, but I make it a point to refute the emotion and replace it with logic. The fact is that the nature of things is to atrophy. Deteriorate. Fall apart. It's a process we cannot stop, but we can slow it down, if we're willing to take the time and put forth the effort.

I could write more on this topic, but I have a few spare moments so I think I'll give myself a mud pack instead. Guess I've shamed myself into it.