You know you’re getting old when your doctor’s appointments involve getting things cut off. Last Monday, in an effort to beat rotten changes to our health care plan, I took the kids to school, and spent the day on my own personal health. Y’all know how hard it is to get yourself in for any non-emergency doctor’s appointments with kids in tow. So, I took some sick time (allowable, provided it’s for my medical benefit and not my children’s) and hit the circuit. My most notable stop was the dermatologist. There, I had all kinds of stuff removed. Sexy, no?
Then it hit me: I’m freaking old.
For years, my mother has gone to the skin doctor and had this thing burned off, such and such removed, this doohickey biopsied. I was always amazed at how calm and flippant she seemed about it. When you’re young, that whole idea is hideous. Dermatologists are for old people and kids with zits. Now it’s my turn.
And no, for any tykes out there reading this: it’s not a big deal. I mean, I prefer not to watch or even think about what’s happening as it’s happening. But it’s not excruciatingly painful. The worst thing? The smell from the damn cauterizing iron. I tried to make it fun, so I cracked the same “no steak for dinner” joke I did after my first C-section.
It’s strange to resolve this whole time/aging thing. On one hand, I still feel like some wide-eyed kid, floundering out in the world trying to figure shit out. On the other hand, I’ve been out of high school for almost 25 years. I have a career, a husband, a house, 2 kids. I pay taxes. I cook dinners. We spent the weekend pressure washing the house (Will and his dad) and bleaching the hell out of the inside (me).
I’m 41 years old. I guess that means I’m sort of middle-aged? I don’t even know what the rules or cut offs for these groupings are. I guess if I were a wealthy male, I’d buy a sports car. But I’m not. And I don’t want a damn sports car.
So instead, after having bits of my body removed and sent to a lab, I went and had a freaking pedicure. And I picked this cool green color. Because no old lady would do that, right?