The Susan Sequel

As I may have mentioned, my decision to write this blog is based, in part, by my recent 50th birthday (there are a few other reasons, but I have to tantalize you with something for future posts). Despite my best efforts, my kids are happy, thriving and pursuing lives of their own. My husband travels frequently for business and it’s way past time for me to decide what I’m going to do when I grow up. But this post isn’t about any of that; rather, I thought I would share some of my initial thoughts and observations about turning fifty.

I don’t recall if I have ever been truly bothered by turning a particular age… I’m just not that girl. However, it turns out that an AARP card randomly showing up in your mailbox is just the thing to change that mind-set (my husband also recently turned 50, so we were fortunate enough to receive two cards in the mail)! Of course, being the model fifty year old, I immediately scheduled an appointment with a gastroenterologist to discuss my very first colonoscopy (don’t worry… it’s not until next month, so we will have plenty of time to discuss my tush in detail). As I sat in the doctor’s office intently watching a video on fecal transplants (I’m pretty sure I subconsciously blocked this part out), I realized that aging might actually suck. And, after being particularly disappointed to find out that the colonoscopy prep fluids don’t come in either red, white or rose, I decided that it was time to put on my big girl panties and do something that might make the whole aging process just a little more fun.

As if my upcoming colonoscopy wasn’t bad enough, there are other little things that definitely exists if only to remind you that you’re getting older, like basic conversations with friends.  Of course, we still talk about our husbands, kids & vacations; however, those conversations are now intermingled with discussions about hot flashes, aches & pains, vision loss and bodily fluids (for your information, I am proud to state that I do not yet have to pee in the middle of the night)! That being said, I want to share some recent discoveries that I refer to as my own personal middle age moments (I refuse to say old):  I do not (and will not) use a shower cap, I can still drink caffeine at night and fall asleep, I will always be the one sweating in a freezing room (my friends are throughly convinced I’m a penguin) and I can no longer see distances (if I ignore you in the mall, it may be because I don’t like you, but it’s more likely because I cannot see your face from a distance). And, get this… my hair has changed! I have had stick straight hair my entire life (minus the 80’s perm that I paid big buck for in college) and now, my hair is naturally curly! This one really threw me for a loop… I couldn’t properly style my hair in my teens and now, way past the french braid phase, I doubt I will be honing this particular skill set at this point in my life (thank g-d for blow dry places and flat irons).

And the penultimate middle age moment presented itself just the other day.  As I clicked on an Instagram meme (I feel cool just saying that) and messaged it to my daughter at college, a wave of nostalgia hit me like a ton of bricks. I had officially become my mother! In the late 80’s when I went to college, my mother, whom everyone knows I adore, sent me article after article in the mail (for you kids reading at home, our parents used to actually write us letters at college).  From AIDS and drugs, to sex and Ann Landers (yes, I’m really aging myself), my mother sent me any, and every, article on assorted topics she thought I should know about. And while my sister and I teased her mercilessly throughout the years about her mail habit, it slowly dawned on me that sending repeated memes to my daughter is the Generation Z equivalent of those exact snail mail articles (*insert collective gasp here*)! With that vision in mind, there is a strong probability that I may never click the send button again (sorry Hannah)!

So, while I may have officially come full circle, I know one thing that is absolutely true… I will not be “old” until I replace my beloved happy hour with an early bird special (and that isn’t happening until Mortons changes their menu)! Cheers to 50 years!