Arthritis. It runs in my family genes like those whacked-out ultra marathoners they do hour long specials about on TLC. Of all the things I could have inherited (skinny thighs, naturally high metabolism, genius level intelligence, blue eyes, oodles and oodles of money) I get arthritis. In my hands. At 34, there are days that my hands feel eighty, and the colder it is outside, the older the hands feel. Now, I've got this philosophy about can openers. Weird, I know, but I feel like it's just lazy to use an electric contraption to open a can when you can use your hands and an old school can opener to do the task. But last week, my 92 year old hands (cause it was like 28 degrees outside) could barely open a can of refried beans. Seriously. At 34. And, of course, I don't own an electric opener. May be investing in one very soon.
My skin. It's beyond dull and unevenly toned. And I don't know about the rest of the thirty-something ladies out there reading this, but I don't have the money to visit the dermatologist and buy all the fancy treatments and cremes and gels and what-nots for my face. I just had to pay $200 to have my daughter's head sewn up by a physician's assistant in the ER, so where would I find the money to visit a real doctor about the appearance of my skin? And I tell you, if I went anyway, one of the kids would fall the next day and break their arm and I would regret any amount of money I had spent on my vanity. So instead, I am trying every combination I can imagine of relatively inexpensive products from the beauty aisle at Wally World. I will certainly keep you all abreast of how that works out.
Night sweats. At 34. As in sweating just enough to dampen the back of my head and the crease behind my knees while I sleep. Just damp enough to make me freeze when I have to get up every night between the hours of 1 and 3 AM to tinkle (which happens to be another joy brought about by both aging and delivering two 8 pound plus babies). I have been under the impression all these years that only menopausal women experience night sweats, not thirty-something young mothers. But apparently, I have either been misinformed or I am a freak of nature and am peri-menopausal at the ripe age of 34. If that's the case, then I should be done withe the annoying task of menstruating within the next several years which would be a-okay with me. But something tells me I won't be lucky enough to be rid of Aunt Flo by the age of 40.
Please tell me I'm not the only one... someone please reassure me that they are feeling the same beginnings of the unpleasantries of leaving your twenties behind... please... someone tell me I am not alone...