Happy Birthday to me! Yesterday I turned…nevermind. I’m still under 60, let’s leave it at that. I’m old enough to have experienced some major bullshit that no woman should ever have to go through but I’m still kicking! That blasted menopause and all that comes with her and old age can kiss my ever lovin’ ass.

It’s not bad enough I have arthritis but I also have bone and joint damage in my knees so that makes exercise nearly impossible. I can barely walk, or stand upright for fuck’s sake. Thanks to my doctor at the time, I didn’t get any help early on to slow the progression, so it just got worse and worse. When I finally found a good doctor, the damage was done.

Then menopause marches into my life. That bitch. I was happy to no longer have a monthly cycle but I can do without the continued hot flashes, chills, night sweats, weight gain, moodiness (Who? Me? Moody?), not to mention the weight gain and sleep problems. I’ve already had enough of that but why not add more? While you’re at it, Ms. Menopause Bitch, you might as well slow my energy and metabolism down even more than it was already. I just have one question: When will you be finished with me?

Getting older has its perks; discounts, grand kids, wisdom, more empathy, clearer priorities, less drama, knowing our worth, and not putting up with less than we deserve, etc. But I don’t think I deserve all the crap splattered on me as I’ve grown older.

I’m even starting to look like an old lady. My youth is gone. I’m a grandmother. Thanks, kids. YOU made me old. Just kidding. But seriously, I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize the person looking back at me. All those wrinkles and the sagging jowls make me look like someone else! The gray hair I can cover – that is, I used to cover. I haven’t been to the hairdresser since early March. I don’t see myself going anytime soon, either. Stupid 2020.

My bladder is a royal pain in the… bladder. I have to get up every 2 hours at night and it’s pretty much the same during the day. Before coronavirus, every time I left the house, the trip was planned around where the damn bathrooms were located! I think I know of every stinkin’ handicap accessible bathroom for 100 miles in all directions!

It’s hard enough having to rely on a cane or crutch to get around but using them leaves me with only one available hand for carrying things or doing a quick task. On top of that, my hands are clumsy. I knock shit over, drop things on the floor, spill every stinkin’ time, and I swear if I drop one more thing today, I’ll scream! I can’t open packaging of any kind without scissors. I miss the trash can every damn time. I’m shocked that I can still crochet!

I have age spots and calcium deposits starting to pop up. My skin is drier than the Mojave Desert, regardless of the brand or type of moisturizer I use. It doesn’t even matter how much I slather on or how often! Ugh!

I have CRS (Can’t Remember Shit). My brain can’t seem to stay focused because it’s focused on my pain and getting me from point A to point B without falling, so by the time I get to point B, I’ve forgotten what I was going to do. I shit you not. I try to remember everything in one trip but it never fails, I forget something. I’ve been told to write things down, make a list. You think I haven’t thought of that? I have lists all over the damn house!

My eyes are going kaput. I need new glasses but I’m not going to the eye doctor until this virus is gone or we have vaccinations. I remind myself of the old-time glasses for people who couldn’t see their hand in front of their faces. Remember how thick the lenses were? I see myself wearing those eventually.

I’m sick of crazy hair growing in the weirdest places. Like one solitary hair growing out of the middle of my forehead…or the one that grows out from under my chin. Wtf is up with that? I’m constantly looking for them but I seem to only find them when they’re an inch long. Then there are the ingrown and course hairs that grow above my lip. It’s like Mother Nature thinks I’m a man and that I need a mustache to keep my lip warm.

I’m shrinking. I was never very tall in the first place. Well, in Elementary school I was one of the tallest kids in school at 5’3″. The problem is, I never got any taller than I was in the 6th freakin’ grade! I have lost a little over an inch. I can’t reach, even on my tippy-toes some things that were never that big of a deal before. I can’t even get the laundry out of the washing machine because the drum is too deep. I just can’t reach!

On the bright side, I still have my own teeth, and my hearing is still somewhat okay; unless of course, you try to tell me something from the other room facing the opposite direction, while the tv is turned up, the water is running because I’m washing dishes, and the washing machine and dryer are also running. Then I can’t hear for shit. Just ask Dad.

I write this with much exaggeration and cynicism but I know it’s just the way it is and there’s nothing I can do about getting older. As much as I despise my body for turning on me so soon, I still like the person I have become. I’m strong, and I’m smart. I know how to do a lot of things; I just can’t do many of them. I’m honest. I’m grateful. I’m a loyal friend but I’m not afraid to let go of friendships that harm my mental health. I’m a good person. I’m still not going to act my age, no matter how old I feel. I’m still going to laugh at inappropriate times at inappropriate things. (Like farts. Farts are funny.) I like my sense of humor. I might be old but I still have a lot to offer. I’m still fucking awesome!

A good friend told me the other day, “Embrace your battle scars. You’re a survivor.” She also told me to not dwell on the bad stuff. Good thing she doesn’t live close or she’d kick my ass after reading this post! In all seriousness though, I am a survivor; I don’t feel like one most days but I still manage to pick myself up and give another day a good run for its money…

So, Happy Birthday to me! Maybe I’ll make it to 102 years old and still be laughing like this old gal!