We have these rickety chairs at our breakfast table. The proportions aren’t right, making the chairs tippy when pushed back. Or when a toddler climbs into them.
Our two-year-old, in his short life, has knocked the chairs over, pulled one over on top of himself, and tipped backwards while sitting in one. My kids love to play under the table, too, and about once a week I hear, “Whoa... whoa..." Followed by, CRASH! Followed by, “Sorry, Mommy. I tried to scoot the chair out of my way and it fell over. Again.”
These chairs have taken years off of my life. I’m guessing if the original plan was for me shake hands with Jesus when I'm 90, I’ll now be lucky to make it to 53.
Except, it appears that I have unwittingly tapped into a fountain of youth this summer. I believe I’m getting younger, and to prove it, I give you the following.
Sign #1 that I am younger than my 37 years: The Rash.
You’re thinking, *Ew, is she really going to tell us about a rash?* You bet I am.
The first week of June I noticed some odd spots on my abs (please picture Jillian Michaels while you read this; my abs are nearly identical). I didn’t think much of the spots at first. I’m a mother with tippy breakfast room chairs, and I don’t have time to dwell.
But a week later, when the spots multiplied, making baby spots all over my torso, I decided to dwell just a bit. Tippy chairs, be damned. It was time to see a professional.
Turns out I had pityriasis rosea, a harmless ailment that typically effects people between the ages of 10 and 35. Hear that? 35. Beat the curve by two years on that one.
Sign #2 that I’m reverse aging: Acne.
You’re thinking, Really? More gross skin stuff? Yep. Really. Although I promise it’s not that gross. Annoying, yes. Gross? I don’t think so.
As long as I was at the dermatologist for my youthful rash, I decided to point out that my skin, typically so smooth and porcelain, now featured a bit more topography. I had pimples. Not giant, adolescent eruptions or anything, but definitely a breakout.
She prescribed some heavy-duty retinol, and gave me this special card to hand the pharmacist, explaining, “Your insurance company might not like this prescription, because insurance doesn’t accept that anyone over 29 can have acne. Give the pharmacist this special card if you have trouble.”
Anyone over 29? Beat the curve by almost a decade on this one.
Sign #3 that I’m getting younger: I Was Carded.
At Target. Buying a couple bottles of Cupcake Vineyards wine.
The checker appeared to have just said, “Goodbye training wheels, hello training bra!” I assumed that she would take one look at me and say a silent prayer, thanking God that she is not yet some sad, old housewife buying wine at Target.
Instead? She carded me. I kissed her, tears welling in my eyes, and said, “Thank you, dear child. For you have made my day.”
Fortunately, the security guard was also a woman of some maturity. When I explained the situation, all charges were dropped. And? Beat the curve by 16 years, baby.
Now, if I can just get some new breakfast room chairs, I might be able to cheat death entirely.
***For those who are now hung up on this rash - you know who you are, my fellow hypochondriacs - it did exactly what the doctor and the 27 websites I consulted said it would. It hung around for about five weeks and then disappeared, causing me very little discomfort in the process.
This guest post was written by Missy, a fabulous writer who blogs about her life, motherhood and everything in between at Wonder Friend. Be sure to give her a follow and find her on Twitter as well.