You Know You're Middle Aged When

Horrors.  When did THAT happen?

You know you’re middle aged when……..

You dance like no-one’s watching.  And that’s the trouble.  You never had any of the moves in the first place and that hasn’t changed.  Then you catch the neighbours watching you rocking out to Taylor Swift as they’re waiting for their gates to open.  You freeze, horrified, for a millisecond but thanks to some rogue remnant teenage rebelliousness, you incorporate it into your routine and keep going.  In fact you take it up a notch.  Someone tell me to stop!  Now!

You google Perimenopause.  Sure.  You get your kids’ names mixed up.  Sure.  You may forget which day of the week it is.  Maybe you’ve even put the sugar in the fridge.  It’s quite possible your spacial awareness is going to hell.  But you don’t like it.  You don’t like it one little bit.  You find yourself in front of the google machine and against your better judgement, type perimenopause.  The last time you ticked all of the boxes was in a Marie Claire magazine and it was a lot funner than a bloody perimenopause check list.  FML!

Here's some flowers.  

All the young wans wear too much make up.  In your opinion.  You find yourself eyeing them through slitted eyes and concluding they’d look so much better without all that fake tan, the big hair and a lot less make-up.  But you do admire their pearly white, perfectly straight “are they CAPPED?” teeth.  The same goes for their clothes.  You’ve got bigger belts!  How on earth does she walk in those shoes?

Wash your FACE!

Grey hairs.  Once upon a time standing in front of the mirror tweezing the odd one was a fun way to kill ten minutes. But now they’ve taken over.  Your hairdresser is polite when you comment and says, “Ah, there’s just a few,” but you sit there watching them spring up out of nowhere as she blow dries your hair. 

I could rock this look.

Saggy Eyelids.  The day has finally arrived and the heart breaking thing is you didn’t see it coming.  I certainly didn’t.  One day you’re putting on your make-up, accentuating your eyelid crease to make your eyes look bigger and the next you’re looking up non-surgical ways to get rid of droopy eyelids on You Tube.   How the fuck did that happen?   You’re not so much of the “hooded eyes” look as hungover looking all of the time.  Even when you’re not! 

Not me.  But close enough.

Mom Jeans.  A recent revelation.  Apparently these exist and I covet a pair.  They lift, they slim and shape.  They perk and tuck and come with their own building site warning.  For when the recession is really over.  I have opened a new jam jar and it is called “Mom Jeans.“  They only cost €62 but by all accounts are worth it.  I truly have been living under a rock.  The rather large one outside Penneys.      

Mom Jeans!

Cats bum.  You do that thing with your lips like a cats bum when you’re displeased, disgusted or are trying hard hard hard not to give out to someone else’s child in the schoolyard/playground.  Oh yes, a definite sign that you’re middle aged and contrary with it. 

This!

You discover a penchant for wine.  Or maybe it was already there; hidden by pregnancies and breastfeeding and being knackered tired.  Who cares?  You’ve discovered it and find you like it.  You like it a lot.  But ssssh, don’t tell anyone. 

You discover words like penchant.  And others like; “in my day,” “when I was young(er),” “I remember when,”  “I’m not able to drink anymore,”  “I’d better put the dinner on,”  “money doesn’t grow on trees, you know?”  You discover whole sentences in fact.

Disclaimer:  The “You” mentioned above is really me.  It’s always me.  I’m middle aged.  Not you.  I hope I didn’t (a) offend you and/or (b) scare you.