Age crept up on me this week.
I was, still am, sick. I won’t go into the dirty details but I will say that if you’re thinking of stopping by our house with chicken soup, wear a HAZMAT suit.
Speaking of HAZMAT suits (that’s not something I say too often)…If you’re an aspiring “mompreneur” can you please stop reading this post right now and go invent some sort of cutesy HAZMAT suit for toddlers? You know, so that my kid can look like an adorable dinosaur and I can be protected from her germy hands and diseases ridden secretions.
There was a time when I could get sick and stay in bed for a day and all I had to do to catch up was take an extra long shower and put on something other than my ancient and much-loved blue sweatpants with the hole in the crotch.
Now, I’m behind at work, I haven’t had enough fun with my kid, I haven’t worked on my blog, I haven’t gone skiing, the meal planning and housework are falling off the rails and I haven’t read my book club book (if I was the type who actually reads the book club book).
The only thing I’m up to date on is the current season of HBO’s Girls and that is nothing to brag about because I’m not 22.
What the heck did I use to do with all my time when I was 22? I didn’t get sick. Of course, I never get sick when I have the time to actually be sick.
It’s really my own fault. I’m not drinking enough water, I’m going to bed too late and a few other bad habits have quietly settled not so nicely into my busy daily routine. Maybe 22-year-old me could live this way but not older me.
It wasn’t just being sick that made be realize that I’m older. The man hurt his back this week. I’m sure lots of young people hurt their back but it’s something my brain equates with age. I picture a dad throwing out his back when he’s helping his daughter move into a college dorm.
I also have an appointment to colour my hair. Changing my hair colour is nothing new as although it’s never blue, it’s often a few shades darker than natural. However, this time I’m specifically doing it to hide the oh-so-sophisticated silver highlights that are spreading above my ears. I have every intention of eventually embracing these highlights; I’m just not ready yet.
My partner always points out how he’s losing his hair. I always say that he doesn’t look any different from when I met him 11 years ago, and I mean it. But then this week I looked at photos of us, from just five years ago, and he’s right; he’s losing his hair.
We’re getting older.
I now love it when I get asked for ID at the LCBO.
I’m okay with getting older, I really am; however, as I was driving home from work yesterday, shivering from a week’s worth of chills, I started wondering…I readily admit that living in the city is in some way an attempt to hold on to the pursuits of my youth. But…is the very thing that’s supposed to be keeping me young responsible for my weakened immune system and grey hairs?
Is this city wearing me down?
Is city living aging me?
A home in the country would mean cleaner air and a slower pace. I’d probably work less, sleep more and eat better. Maybe I’d drink more water and less wine. Maybe I wouldn’t have an Extra Strength Reactine dependency.
Maybe I wouldn’t be sick…again…
Maybe not. Maybe I’m just sick and feeling older because I’m the mom a kid that although awesome, goes to daycare and does not have a dinosaur HAZMAT suit.
Maybe I should just drink some more water and go to bed.
P.S. Taking a bit of a break until I recover. Hoping to have a new post up early next week.