Character Confession: The One Where I Became Not Monica, But Her Mom
My name means youthful and I loved when I was mistaken for being much younger than I really was. The first time I was called ma’am, I blamed the other person in my mind because certainly, I was too young for such a title.
Well, my birthday is coming up and I’m over 40. I don’t have gray hair coming in, thanks to mom’s genes, my hair is white without help. And help I need.
I need my teenaged son to help me find my keys. They are usually in my hands.
I need help taming my tongue. It seems like that people pleasing filter, not a healthy thing taken to obsession, is so set free it completely disappeared. If I feel it, I will speak it. I remember being aghast at the things senior citizens said all those years my office was at the senior center. Now? My family probably will get me a muzzle for a gift.
The doctors! So far in 2012 I’ve seen my regular doctor (sinus infection), dentist (check-up), urologist (lab work follow up that didn’t reveal the results I wanted to hear) dermatologist (changing skin I knew as a fair skinned person I should have checked out) and yesterday, eye doctor. I went in saying all is well, I decided to have an exam because I brought the kids here, to two hours later hearing I’m the worst of us all. My vision has always been bad, and the jump in prescription would be amazing if this were an Olympic event. It’s not, so I left yesterday with my youth in pieces as the office worker said, “Do you know how awful your vision is?”
I’m on medicine to help with menopause symptoms and Ben-Gay sits on my nightstand.
When did this happen?
I’ve been watching Friendson Nick at Night, remembering the first time around, I was the same age or younger as Monica, Joey, Phoebe, Ross, Chandler, and Rachel. Watching 16 years later, they look like kids and I’m aware if I tried to live out their premise as a coffee shop friend today, I’d be a creepy middle age nuisance.
There’s a lot to love about aging, and I do. But given this is Character Confession Saturday, I’m grieving those non-white hair days where I was referred to as Miss and I related more to Monica Gellar Bing than I did her mom.
Anyone else experiencing this journey?
