Late Bloomer Bride

I have noticed an alarming development among Husband and I. Our preoccupation with our bodies. And, not in the romantic sense, either.

One thing about getting married later in life, which you are not warned about, is dealing with his-and-her health issues. Or, rather the “lack” of health and various body, let’s say, “comings and goings.”  For more than 20 years my romantic partners never even knew I had doctor visits, let alone what went on at them. But now being married means I have a witness to every body ache, pain and shift.

And, while you kinda knew things would, er, change, now someone is watching (other than me). Things start to droop, creak, become susceptible to all kinds of germs, and generally become a literal pain in the ass. And, if you are married, this all will become a terrific topic of conversation. Even at the dinner table.

For instance, not too long ago, Husband had some icky infection near his eye necessitating two trips to the eye doctor and as many trips to the dermatologist. By the end of the week he was on antibiotics, anti-virals and some other cream. (Note: Nagging won’t help, but nothing gets a man to a doctor faster than saying something about “loss of eyesight.”) I was supposed to be uber interested in all of this. I was just hoping it’d clear up and we could go back to talking about our upcoming vacation. But, no. I was now obligated to listen to all manners of infectious disease talk.

And, even if it’s not illness, it’s the other things. Really weird stuff starts happening after age 40. Just the other day, Husband plucked a rather long hair off my shoulder. I was mortified. (Husband seemed nonplussed, as if he were just the alpha gorilla grooming his mate.)

At the same time, I was really, really not prepared for waking up one day and suddenly having 100 strands of hair leave my head, while hair sprouts elsewhere – places you never knew hair could exist. (And, that another human being would be there to see — and in some cases, pluck.)

So, things just start happening. Without your permission. And, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Like, I was really, really looking forward to the hormones shifting every other day. That’s tons of fun. (Note: Husband is far less interested in this topic.)

And, let us not forget the knees and ankles that pop and crack like rice krispies.

And, did I mention the hormones?

Then, there is the sleep disturbances (one night you sleep like a baby, the next night you’re a restless old man), sudden bouts of snoring, and heartburn over the tequila and pizza (which wouldn’t have fazed you five years ago).

Did I forget to mention the shifting hormones? Oh, yeah, your memory starts to wane like the moon. That is if you can still see the moon, because one morning you wake up needing reading glasses. Yeah, I am really, really happy about that one. Because wearing the strongest contact lenses they can manufacture is just not enough anymore.

I know all about “it beats the alternative”, which basically means death. But, living aside, I suppose there is one shining light at the end of the tunnel. When married — especially older — you’re not in it alone. And, you get to talk about it. (Woo-hoo.)  On top of that, what is really amazing is you discuss these disgusting things, and they still want to sleep with you.

(This would not have happened at age 25. At age 25, you are still in “princess” mode, where no man would ever learn anything about your beauty regime, let alone hear about the necessity of visiting the electrolysis woman.)

Yet, I still can’t help but wonder — talking about all this body stuff, isn’t that what old married people do?

Oh, wait.

We are old(er) married people. When did that happen?