The first time I heard Guns N’ Roses on the “classic rock” station was when I realized 1990 wasn’t ten years ago. It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing that 60 didn’t seem “old” anymore and the fact that regularly taking pills is in my very near future.

I wish it was a gradual change, but it wasn’t. The day I hit 35 it all started to go downhill from there. Before I knew it, I was complaining that dinner was so late (6:00 p.m.). Now that I’m cruising up to forty, the following things have a permanent seat at my dinner table:

I wish it was a gradual change, but it wasn’t. The day I hit 35 it all started to go downhill from there, and before I knew it, I was complaining that dinner was so late (6:00 p.m.). Now that I’m cruising up to forty, the following things have a permanent seat at my dinner table:

My elbow skin doesn’t fit anymore.

Recovery time for anything takes long. Including waking up in the morning.

Getting up off the floor is a six stage process.

I couldn’t pick a One Direction song out of a lineup if my life depended on it.

People always ask if I’m angry because, wrinkles.

I can’t sit crisscross-applesauce without my legs falling asleep.

Exercise is a lot more work than I remember it being in high school.

I have to explain what a ringing telephone sound is to my six-year-old.

I can’t hold my phone in bed for longer than 20 minutes without my arm falling asleep.

I can’t swing without getting motion sickness.

I have hair on my chin.

I think every new singer or band was on American Idol.

I had no idea American Idol wasn’t on TV anymore.

I’m home by 9:00 p.m. instead of just heading to the “good” place.

I look for the cereal with fiber in it.

I’ve had my gallbladder—an entire organ—removed because it didn’t work anymore.

My last pregnancy had an Advanced Maternal Age (AMA) sticker on my folder.

My metabolism left and said, “It’s me, not you.”

I drink coffee in the evening. Decaf, please.

I don’t understand teenage fashion.

Thankfully, my generation didn’t have leisure suits and shag carpeting – although I have heard shag is back as a “retro” carpet under the alias of “plush” – just like bell bottoms came back as flare pants. I suspect I’ll get used to it all as I gradually adjust to my new life ways.

One day, when I’m shopping for my little pill case with the days of the week on the top of it, I’ll see my metabolism walk by me in the form of a younger girl in fashion I don’t understand. Maybe I’ll shake my head, or long for the days when I was that girl.

Probably, I’ll be sad for her that she didn’t have Guns N’ Roses to guide her through teenage angst with the cold November rain and oodles of Aquanet. I’ll add my fiber-rich foods to the cart and be happy my evening isn’t starting at 10:00 p.m. because I did that already. I did all the things, and I’ll be happy to finally have some down time because it’s just way too much work to keep the up time.