Creeeeeeak

Terry and I, bless our hearts, are getting older. I suppose that’s the goal, right? to get older? Not to die when you’re 35 and leave children without parents to be raised by grandparents who don’t really want to raise children at that point in their lives?

So yea, it’s probably a good thing we’re getting older but there’s stuff that comes with it that…y’know…you don’t except to happen to YOU even though you know it happens to everyone else and you laugh at them for it.

Kind of like laughing at your 12 yr old friends when they get braces….it’s funny until you have to make the trip.

I’m getting creaky. The hip was dealt with (angels still sing about that one), but now there’s a shoulder (torn rotator cuff w/ phys therapy and exercises I hate doing), a few minor back issues, that need for coffee increasing from 2 cups in the morning to 2 pots a day…oh shut up. I don’t want to hear your lectures about tea. Spare me.

And Terry, work issues that come from being in the position he’s in. 20 years ago he wasn’t in this position, didn’t have these worries. Didn’t have the pay either but at least he had regular weekends off. And he’s getting bifocals. And yes I’m laughing at him…at least until I have to get them, too. Fortunately they have these transition types that don’t have the lines and all so no one will be able to tell that he has them, until he wobbles into the machinery because they’re making him dizzy. Wobbling is one thing when you’re me at 5’4″, it’s a whole ‘nother bird when you’re him at 6’4″ and the machinery ain’t a washing machine. He is, however, looking forward with eager anticipation at being able to read again. For the last 6 months or so it’s been me having to hold his book about 3 feet away (his arms are long but not that long) in order for him to see it. Bless his heart.
The hard part with the glasses was finding a style that works with the bifocal thing (that is, not those little rectangle style you need a turtleneck and a Prius to wear) yet doesn’t make him look like someone from the late ’70’s, with the Member’s Only jacket and TI-80 calculator. (y’know, aviators with the bar across the top). I don’t even remember what we found, but I do remember thinking they looked nice and professional on him

So here we are, smack dab in the middle of Middle Aged. Well, he is, anyway. his people live to be in their 80’s that makes him, at 45, solidly middle aged. My people live to be 100,so I’m not there yet. I’m still a Sweet Young Thing. So I get to laugh at his bifocals and pretend all my orthopedic issues are sports relatied injuries. I wore my arm in a sling to church yesterday (it was the only way it didn’t hurt like it might fall off), and when people asked what happened I told them “torn rotator cuff from doing back handsprings while practicing to tryout for the Atlanta Falcons cheerleaders”
and they were all “huh…”

O I guess the next incarnation of middleagedness will be Terry finally realizing his dream of owning that Harley, and me getting to ride on the back, the two of us tearing up the Open Road…or something.

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About rootietoot

I do what I can.
This entry was posted in *whinge*, Dewicate feewings, Disease and infirmity, Good grief, say it isn't so!, spouse. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Creeeeeeak

  1. Bella Rum says:

    I hear ya! It’s patch, patch, patch after 40. That’s amazing that your folks live into their hundreds. I hope that doesn’t happen to me though. Although, if I could still live alone and bathe myself, it’d be okay.

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