I think I have decided that your body really does give up at around 39 years and 6 months. At least I think mine has.
Just last week, after a very annoying eight days with what I thought was an infected bug bite on my face, I finally went to the doctor. (Am I the only mom that will have my kids halfway to the pediatrician at the sound of a cough but will wait weeks to get myself there with what looks like a tumor on my face?) Anyway, after looking at my face the doctor told me that, no, it wasn’t an insect bite but rather shingles. Yep, let’s say it together people: Shingles. Um, what? The only people I have ever heard of who have had shingles carry an AARP card. In fact, one quick click on WebMd — after skipping past shingles’ connection to the herpes virus and some really nasty pictures — there it is: “You have a greater chance of getting shingles if you are older than 50.”
Fifty is the new 40, I guess. It had already started happening, really. The sensitive toothpaste, the anti-wrinkle anything, the 9 p.m. bedtime, the vitamin supplements, the loud knees. I am already in a losing battle with my body for my mad, passionate love affair with Little Debbie when I was pregnant with each baby. Apparently the old bod is still pissed that it weighed as much as Mike Tyson for a good two years. Just as my chicken pox must have lay dormant for 20 years, these damn oatmeal cream pies have too. But I digress.
At least I am in good company, I guess. This week, as my face exploded, I had a friend — in her early 30s, mind you — whose exploded blood vessel in her eye has made her look like the devil for several days (that was fun for her to explain at her daughter’s school open house) and yet another friend, in her 40s, who has come full circle with a retainer to fix her teeth. I think we will all invest in the Hoveraround together and get started on that AARP application.
Sarah Weitzenkorn would appreciate it if you didn’t stare too long at her face — or her gray hairs — if you see her anytime soon.