The Middle Ages

Darling people who live inside my computer. I hope this blog post finds you well and you have recovered from all that Christmas/New Years Palaver, and escaped any comments from your drunken old uncle Duncan about your weight or appearance.

Ours went by in the usual fashion. Too much booze. Too much food. Force field shields activated at barbed quips that came my way. A notable no show, far too much chocolate and a lot of ham/pork sweats due to too much ham/pork ingestion.

And so with the New Year upon us, I took myself off to my GP for my annual grease and oil change. I get quite nervous going to the GP, because I am quite sure they will take one look at me and tell me I have six months to live. Now, my usual GP is on holidays, so I saw a new one, a lady in her mid 50’s who I immediately fell in love with as she used the worlds “we” a lot.

As in “Let’s see what WE are dealing with here…” after I told her that I am having trouble trying to work out whether my thunderous moods were due to menstrual hormones or the fact that I am a ridgy didge, 100% bona fide psychopath.

Oh the hormones of a 45 year old woman! Is there anything you CAN’T do? Like the crying, when you fall down a you-tubed shaped hole where you watch clip after clip of animals being re-united with long gone servicemen. Or deaf babies after being fitted with hearing aids. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

But back to my medical visit. We small talk chitchatted while she printed off my script. I told her that Christmas became more difficult as you got older, because your kids are now teenagers and your parents are getting frailer. So the Christmas baton is passed down to you, and you can either catch it smoothly or continue running, or you can drop it and fuck up Christmas for everyone.

And then she said something that stopped the time space continuum. She handed me my script, looked me in the eye and said…

“Welcome to being middle aged!”

 So naturally I ran some numbers. The average Australian woman lives until 82.5 years, so technically middle age starts at 41. I HAVE BEEN MIDDLE AGED FOR FOUR YEARS AND I HAD NO IDEA!

And then she gave me a referral for, get this, a pelvic ultrasound. YIPPEE!

I couldn’t recall what happened much for the rest of the day, but when Mrs. Goodman dropped around later with the towels that we left at her pool, she was quick to take up my offer of a tall glass of gin and tonic. And we cheers to being middle aged, ever so reluctantly. For even on paper I am one age, it is certainly not the one I feel, which can span between 22 and 88.

Do you feel the age you are?