I am at home. I want to be downhill skiing with my boys. They left an hour ago for a day of skiing with their school and I really meant to join them, but I have had an extremely sore muscle in my neck/shoulder for three days and don't want to risk making it worse.
So now I am home, eating a bowl of muslei with bran buds sprinkled on top (VERY high in fibre) and feeling like an 85 year old.
A week or so ago, I was diagnosed with a pesky thyroid disease and was told I have to take medication for the rest of my life. I am in a little bit of denial over that statement. I am beginning to wonder if my body knows it's turning 40 this year and has begun to self-destruct.
Forty. Another bit of denial.
Thirty-nine? No problem. Being thirty-something kinda suits me. I do have a husband, five kids, a house, a minivan, two university degrees, a solid sense of self and I somehow know all the lyrics to every outdated 80's song on the radio. I have tried out a few different careers - teacher, caterer, photographer, potter, day-care provider.... I would pretty much have to be in my thirties to fit all of that in. Thirty suggests some stability while still having the potential to be cool, youthful, fun.
Thyroid hormone replacement pills daily on an empty stomach.
Muscle pain without any known cause.
Wrinkles and pimples - at the same time!
Iron pills (later in the day, but not at bedtime).
Grey hair. Lots of grey hair.
So far it's not looking very pretty.
Perhaps I will add a new prescription for Zoloft to my list of meds come September. Or curl up in a ball and refuse to uncurl for ten years. Or spontaneously combust.
And really, for the sake of my parents, I can't just go and turn forty. How would THEY feel? Having a child who is forty? I still think THEY are in their forties!
And the very word forty looks ridiculous - it's missing a 'u'. 40 just doesn't seem to have any redeeming qualities, so I think I will just stay here at 39.