Sunday, January 14, 2018

I’m too young to be “too old for this sh&t”

 
So lately I have caught myself muttering under my breath, “I am too old for this sh*t” and after hearing myself say it 4 times in about an hour it got me thinking; Am I too old for this sh*t?  In my mind I feel like I am too young to be too old. 

Back in December I turned 45.  That was a hard number for me to swallow.  The day after you turn 45 you are officially on the downward slope to 50.  50!  How is it that I am now closer to 50 than I am to 40?  I know with every passing day I age but I honestly still see myself as 25.  I don’t see myself as middle-aged.   But the more I think about it, the more reality sets in and I am old enough to be too old for this sh*t. 

We had a big snow storm recently.  Our driveway and sidewalk were full of snow that needed to be removed. Chuck was doing the bulk of the shoveling but has an injured elbow, so I was helping.  He was using the decent shovel since he was doing the lion’s share of the work.  I was left with one of those collapsible ones you keep in your car to dig your tires out.  I liken it to a soup spoon.  So, there we are in sub-zero temps with whipping winds in the dark trying to dig out from a nasty Nor’easter.  The dog is out and wants to play, one of the girls is “helping” shovel by throwing snow in the places I have already cleared and the other 2 are trying to build something in the snow and getting frustrated because we are more focused on clearing the snow than helping them.  The girl helping storms off and pouts when I ask her to shovel another spot. Good times abound.  Finally, after muttering, “I am too old for this sh*t” more times than I can count I head inside to make dinner.  The next few days pass without incident.  On the 3rd day I wake up at 1:18 a.m. in excruciating pain.  I knew instantly what it was.  My mother F-ing Rotator Cuff.   Last spring, I tore my rotator cuff.  Don’t ask me how because I don’t have a clue.  Apparently, it is an injury of overuse.  If you know me at all you know I don’t overuse my body in any way, shape or form.  To this day it remains one of Life’s great mysteries as to how that injury occurred.  I had a cortisone injection some PT and  was good to go.  I haven’t had any problems with it since so I honestly forgot about it.  That is until 1:18 last Sunday morning.  I was able to get back into PT quickly and was looking for some relief.  So, the therapist says he is going to do some cupping on my shoulder.  Sure, I say.  I mean Gwyneth Paltrow is famous for cupping.  That is how I learned of it in the first place.  If it is good enough for Gwyneth it is good enough for Erin.  I mean she is this dainty little celebrity flower, I am not.  How bad can it be?  For the love of God, I am not as tough as Gwyneth at all.  AT. ALL.  That sh*t hurt like a sumabitch!  My shoulder ended up all bruised and battered.  It hurts to wear a bra and this weekend, unlike most weekends, I actually had plans that involved leaving my house and interacting with society, so I had to wear a bra.  I swear to all that is Holy when I go back to PT on Tuesday if he even hints at cupping again I will throat punch him.  So, when it comes to shoveling point goes to “I am too old for this sh*t”.  For the record, as we speak Chuck is at Home Depot picking up our brand-new snow blower.  So, when it goes to that Mother Nature, point goes to us bitch!

 

Recently with my kids I feel a sense of urgency to teach them as many life lessons as I can.  I am not sure if that has to do with my birthday and my new-found sense of hurry up and get my life in order before its over, or the shithole that has become our society.  Our president, love him or hate him has given me the freedom to use the salty language I prefer.  I may not be able to say words like science or evidence based but I do get to use words like shithole, pussy, bigly and covfefe.  So, as I try to raise three impressionable young girls into three independent, open minded, compassionate young women I feel like time is running out.  I don’t know what it is lately, but I feel like I have this small window of opportunity to pour as much kindness and good into them as I can.  I want them to be decent and productive members of society long after I am gone.  I am trying so hard not raise a-holes and the more and more time they spend out in the real world it seems to be getting harder and harder.  I have always put thought into how I was raising my children but now I have been consumed with this incredible sense of responsibility to ensure my daughters have a strong sense of self, sense of purpose and sense of doing the right thing even when it is the hard thing to do.  Raising children is a younger woman’s game.  Having my third at just about 41 has made me very tired.  Again, point goes to “I am too old for this sh*t”. 

Since my birthday and my realization that this isn’t a practice run, this is the only shot I get at life I have decided I need to get healthy.  Really get healthy.  Not just lose a few pounds, but transition to a more active lifestyle.  If I want to see my girls grow up into these decent young women I am pouring so much energy into I need to really change some things up.  Right before my birthday I had an appointment with my cardiologist.  Because my heart conditions are congenital, meaning I have had them since birth, I am seen by a doc at Boston Children’s Hospital.  So, I get to sit in the waiting room with little kids.  The way my appointments were set up I had to be there all day with several hours in between visits.  Going to a children’s hospital is always eye opening, despite working in pediatrics for almost two decades it is so different when you are there as a patient and not staff.  Being there and being treated for a heart condition that could have killed me and has killed so many always leaves me with a sense of gratitude for having grown into adulthood a privilege that is denied to so many.  Now, since my last cardiac appointment I have put on a crap ton of weight.  I had Emily, my mom died, and I have not put myself first in a very long time.  I packed on the pounds.  I knew it.  I didn’t need an 85 pound, if that, 24-year-old Cardiac Fellow to tell me.  But she did.  She came in and told me that we all struggle with our weight.  Now I don’t know much about her, who knows maybe she did have a weight problem in the past.  Maybe she has been counting her Weight Watchers Points and working out at Curves.  But my friends listen up, she told me the secret to weight loss; she told me, “when you are hungry for chips and cookies, just eat carrots and celery instead”.  She was completely earnest when she said this, bless her little heart.  I looked right at her and said, “oh my God, are you serious?  That is the secret?  That is all I have to do?  Eat carrots and celery when I want junk food?  Oh man, I have to go home and tell my husband now I know what I have been doing wrong all these years!”.  Yes, I was a snarky a-hole but she was so condescending.  She must have cried to the attending, who is amazing and so down to earth, because came in she said, no need to stock up on carrots and celery, don’t focus on the scale, just try to add in some healthier choices from time to time and make yourself a priority every now and then.  That I can get behind.  Mary Alice, our dog, and I have started going for walks when the weather allows.  Poor thing, she loves going to explore the new neighborhood but if we had to rank every member of our family for their fitness even Mary would come in behind me.  As I trudge up the hills of our neighborhood I may have let a few “I’m too old for this sh*t” slip out.  But in this case, I am taking a point for me.  See that Dr. Valente?  I took the point for myself so technically that is making myself a priority!

 

Things haven’t been all gloom and doom lately.  There are a few times when I was like, OK Erin, you’ve got this.  You might be middle aged, but you aren’t on the Geriatric service just yet.  And then reality rears its ugly head.  I have been finding a crap ton of greys in my eyebrows.  Like a lot.  I have been plucking them out but then I am left with bald spots where I should have eye brows.  Not a good look.  Eye brows are tricky.  I am sure I could get some hair dye and take care of the problem, but I can almost guarantee that would somehow end with me losing my eyesight.  Most likely only in one eye and I would have to wear a pirate patch.  My kids would have a field day with that and I can’t let them win this round.  So, I have taken to filling in my eye brows. This is a skill that is way easier said than done.  Don’t fill in enough and you have these weird, soft brown looking divots peppered throughout your eyebrow line, fill in too much and you look like you took Tom Brady’s black undereye light blocking cream and haphazardly smeared two swaths of sh*t across your eyebrow line.  It is a daily struggle to find the middle ground.  The other day I was at my supermarket of record.  (Not saying the name of the store to protect this girl’s privacy.)  I went to the courtesy booth.  The girl has her back to me and when she ever turned around it took all the strength I had not to burst out laughing and shout “da f*ck happened to your face?”  She had what can only be described as a wooly mammoth drawn above each eye.  They were both perfectly shaped so, 1.  She must have purchased a kit with a stencil, 2. She invested some time in drawing them on and 3.  She did this on purpose (or I am hoping against hope she lost a bet).  I couldn’t stop staring and part of me really wanted to secretly snap a picture but then my sensibilities snapped in and my sense of humor was replaced with a sense of sadness.  I felt so bad for her.  It hit me, and I got really sad, this poor girl has no one in this world that loves and cares about her.  If she did there is no way on God’s green earth they would let her out of the house looking like Bert from Sesame Street.  Now, before anyone gets on me for making fun of someone’s appearance, something I would never do.  This was her choice!  She was not born this way!  These were not her God given eyebrows.  These were those drawn in ones you see all over YouTube makeup tutorials.  I am all for a person’s personal style, making statements through fashion etc.  When my girls are teens if they want to dye their hair purple and shave it into a reverse mohawk, get a nose ring, wear ridiculous clothes-have at it.  But if one of them ever, EVER tries stepping foot outside the house with these ridiculous over drawn in eyebrows I would stage an intervention so fast A&E couldn’t get a camera crew here in time.  But I digress, my eyebrow issues don’t end there.  As if grey eyebrows didn’t scream “I am too old for this sh*t” enough, I found a rogue one you can only see in profile.  You know one of those eyebrows that grow super long and stick out up above the natural eyebrow line.  Yup, that kind.  So now every morning not only do I have to fill in the bald patches I now have to take my mirror and check out my profile to make sure I don’t have any long ones waving at the people.  Oh, and for the record, now that I am teetering on old lady problems I have added checking for stray nose and ear hairs to my daily beauty regimen.   I will take my old lady, crepe papery hands, put on my progressive lenses and just give a big, fat check in the “too old for this sh*t” column.

Since my birthday I have really been taking inventory of my life.  It is like I have been slapped into reality; this isn’t a practice run.  I only get one shot at this and I need to make sure I am getting it done on my terms.  After focusing so much on being a mom for the past 10 years I am slowly learning to put myself first every now and then.  Being a mother makes it impossible to put myself first all the time, by virtue of being a mom your children should and deserve to come first the majority of the time.  But little by little I am taking back some of my life.  I love to write, it is like therapy for me.  I have started to clean out a storage room in our basement and I am working on turning it into an office, so I will have my own quiet, private space to go and write.  Who knows? Maybe I will even write a book about being a Minivan Mom before I am really “too old for this sh*t”.  Stay tuned….

 

 

 

 

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