I am a Teenager Stuck in a Middle-Aged Body

I am 16 years old at heart, but I am stuck in a middle-aged body.  I may not wear bootie shorts and crop tops, every calorie I eat goes right to my hips, and can’t dance to save my life, but in my heart and soul I am still a teenager.

There is nothing more satisfying than sleeping in on a Saturday morning, and a weekday sleep in makes me giddy. I prefer to stay up late at night, and even if I didn’t, I have a hard time going to sleep at all, much less early. My body, however, prefers not to hang out at a movie, restaurant, bar, or party into the wee hours. It would rather plant itself firmly on my bed in the comfort of home, with my husband next to me, and the dog curled up under a blanket at the bottom of the bed.  I am a teenager stuck in a middle-aged body.

I will never fill my closet with black and beige, and I refuse to wear “mom jeans.” There are certain styles of tops I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, and I was once told (by a slightly older friend) that the cute brown and pink hoodie I was buying looked like it was for someone younger. Recently, I was at a shoe store and the sales associate took me over to the clunky, white, walking shoes. My body was suddenly (and horrifyingly) taken over by a rude teenager who shouted out, ” I’m not wearing those ugly things!” I spent the next 10 minutes apologizing for my alter-ego. I am a teenager stuck in a middle-aged body.

When my husband goes out-of-town for work I sleep with a stuffed animal  that we got while on a date night. We were at Build-a-Bear and he pulled all the cloth hearts out of a large tube and put them back in the top until he got to the only one we could find that said “I Love You” on it.  I won’t change the sheets on the bed until he gets back, and before he leaves I change my jammies every night for a few days so I have several pairs to wear while he’s gone that I have worn with him by my side. If those get dirty, I resort to his t-shirts. He is my movie star. I am a teenager stuck in a middle-aged body.

A few years back, I was driving my son and a friend’s daughter to school, we were talking about a specific person and I said, “She’s OUR age.” I was a 40ish year old woman talking to a 16-year-old girl. I am a teenager stuck in a middle-aged body.

Although I appreciate many genres of music spanning over a number of decades, I will also listen to (and enjoy at a frightening level) the music my pre-teen and teen listen to. Some songs I will play over and over, never tiring of them. I will sing along, and may even dance. If only the dance moves matched the age of my heart and soul. I am a teenager stuck in a middle-aged body.

I would rather feel young at heart, with the knowledge and experience of a seasoned adult than be 16 again. Being a 40-something kid has plenty of advantages. The most important being an appreciation of and love for life.  I’ll take being trapped in this middle-aged body any day of the week. It has been through many trials and tribulations, and it has made me who I am today.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Best Day of My Life- A Letter to my Husband

Marrying you was the best decision I have ever made. That day changed my life forever. I would not be the person I am today, if it weren’t for you. I wish you believed me when I say…… it was the best day of my life.

Did I ever tell you that you are everything I ever wanted in a husband? That as a little girl, when I thought of my future husband, it was you. A gentleman. Smart, loving, kind, giving, thoughtful. And funny. I still laugh when I think about the “hats” you used to make out of towels, when you finished your shower, in our younger years. Those silly games you made up, that were meant to drive me batty, like “I Got Your Pinky Toe.”  I would be sitting there, minding my own business, and all of a sudden you would be holding my feet up by my pinkie toes. Or when I was reading on the bed, or watching a show, and you’d flop on to me like a fallen tree. You called it, “I’m a Bull Seal.”  Where did that stuff come from?! I love that now and then, you remember, and I find myself trying to figure out how to escape your game. I can’t help but smile and laugh, even though I am stuck, at least until I can convince you to free me. I love you for that. Thank you for teaching me to be lighthearted.

You’ve spent our entire marriage making big plans for us. You started talking about adoption from the day after our wedding, until the day we did. I never thought it would happen. I didn’t think we could ever afford it. You talked about living abroad, long before I had the nerve to do it. You make me believe in things I never imagined. You make the impossible, possible. You fantasize about what we will do in our retirement years. I hope they come true. Thank you for teaching me to dream.

Thank you for taking care of me during my Crohn’s years. For seeing me through those miserable days. For staying by my side. For doing things I’m sure you didn’t want to do, during my recovery from surgery. Thank you for not looking at me differently once I had my Ostomy bag. For loving me just as much. Or more.

You’ve taught me to live a life where fear does not control me, or my decisions. A life where I don’t worry about what others think. That it is okay to do something spur-of-the-moment. That prior planning is not always necessary, or preferred. Thank you for suggesting we take an unplanned trip to Seattle, just for fun, to see my brother, with 12 hours notice, a three-year old, and a newborn. You showed me how to feel carefree. You’re the one I want to spend my wild and crazy days with. Thank you for teaching me to be spontaneous.

Thank you for holding my hand, when we go to sleep. Or snuggling up behind me. For always being close to me at night, no matter how far to the side of our king-sized bed I lay, so I can keep my feet out of the covers. Thank you for holding my hand when we are at the mall, or walking down the street. For opening my car door. For pulling the car up so I don’t have to step in a snow drift, or through the mud. For always making sure the street is safe to cross, even know I’m completely capable of doing it myself.  I love how you protect me. Thank you for showing me how much you care.

Thank you for all the little things you do. For taking the kids to their activities on those days that I can’t stand to get in the car again, even know you’ve had a full day at work. For bringing me coffee in bed. For spending hours making homemade bread. For making that amazing Thomas the Tank Engine cake for Ethan’s 2nd birthday, when I was too sick. Thank you for taking care of the kids by yourself for two weeks, so I could help my parents in Arizona after that medical emergency. And for doing it again, for five weeks, the next year, without hesitation. Thank you for the big things, too.

Thank you for your love of music. For walking into a room blaring a happy song, on a dreary day. For smiling and dancing. For wanting me to sing for you. Or dance with you. For listening to the same song, over and over again. Thank you for “theme songs.”  For almost 30 years you have burst out in song, based on a current situation, whatever it may be.  This skill is now ingrained in my brain. I can pull an appropriate, and timely, “theme” song out of my head at the drop of a hat. Thank you for reminding me to sing and dance.

Thank you for every minute of our life together. The good, and the bad. They have made me who I am today. I don’t regret a single second. Thank you for giving me every bit of you. You are amazing. Inside and out. You are God’s gift to me. You are my everything. Thank you for loving me. Thank you…….for the best days of my life.