So I'm standing in the checkout line buying milk and bread...........;)
Not really. I was standing in the checkout line with a case of beer, a case of wine and two bottles of champagne. Everyone ELSE was buying milk and bread which doesn't make a lick of sense because...I'm going to be stuck in this house for two or three days with Those I Love Most? Someone better be drinking and I prefer it be me.
It's snowing in the South. This constitutes an emergency unlike anything seen anywhere else on the planet. It is a standing joke because all the weatherman has to do is mention the S word and...everyone runs out and buys milk and bread. I've never met anyone who eats milk sandwiches, but this is what we do.
ANYWAY. I was doing that thing we all do in checkout lines...surreptitiously reading the covers of the trashy rags lined up next to the candy. And without fail, there she was. The Number Two cover line on slick magazines...a middle-aged movie star holding her new baby.
The Number One? Walk Off Ten Pounds Before Dinner. Shows up on at least one magazine a week.
Well, just let me tell you what's NOT in Movie Star's article. There's no mention of the STAFF of caretakers for the new baby. There's no mention of the personal trainer who got MS back into her pre-pregnancy jeans in four days. There's no mention of the personal chef who not only cooked her meals, but served them to her and then cleaned up the mess. There's no mention of the personal assistant who's managing her "affairs," or the housekeeper who's managing the baseboards or the personal esthetician who removed all the bags and wrinkles and stretch marks and undereye circles. There's no mention...but you get the picture. It's real easy to look like that if someone else is handling all your stuff for you.
But what's funny is that standing there all beamy, holding that cute little dumpling and flashing those pearly whites, is only a click in time. The real stuff is coming and let me tell you, it's not pleasant.
After over four years of crazy infertility treatment, I had The Miracle Child In My Old Age when I was 40. Life being what it is, and God having an AWESOME sense of humor, after 28 years of unprotected sex I got up one day and I was 44 years old and pregnant. I just THOUGHT I knew about miracle children and old age.
Things They Don't Tell You...
**There will come a time you can't put your daughter's hair into a ponytail because your hands hurt too much to twist the ponytail holder. Arthritis isn't for really old people...it shows up a lot earlier than you'd think.
**Bleacher seats are tools of the devil. Evil inventions primarily designed to make your hips hurt so badly that you'll stand up indefinitely. This can get interesting when you're in a gym like...ALL DAY.
**Your peer group gets younger and younger. With The Nice Kid (the one I had at 40) I'd make jokes about the occasional parent who wasn't alive when Kennedy was shot. The last time I made that crack? I was the only one there who WAS alive when Kennedy was shot. I think I'm giving up that specific remark.
**Volunteering at school isn't fun anymore. In my case, because of The Big Kid, I've been doing this for 30 years. I don't WANT to bake any more cakes for the Fall Festival or paint any more flower pots for the bazaar or man any more ticket booths ANYWHERE. In my case? When I like the teacher? I go in at the beginning of the year and lay it out...I'm not putting my name on ANYTHING. I'm not volunteering for ANYTHING. I'm not raising my hand for ANYTHING. Having said that...if no one else will do it, call me. I probably won't say no ;)
**Clothes are not fun anymore. I don't care if everyone is wearing skin-tight leggings with high-heeled boots. Leggings make me sweat and high heels hurt my feet and BEEN THERE! DONE THAT! Which brings us to...
**Makeup sucks. I already HAVE smoky eyes, it's just that the smudges are underneath instead of on my lids. Foundation just gets in my wrinkles and blush just blends in with the rest of my red face. And those little lines around my mouth? You don't really notice them if there's no lipstick creeping toward my nose.
**My friends? The ones I grew up with? Have GRANDCHILDREN older than my youngest. MY friends are traveling. They collect antiques because hey!!! No more red Koolaid to spill on the furniture! They want to go out in the middle of the week? Great! THEY aren't failing fifth grade math for the fourth time or trying to make Playdoh into food crops like the Indians grew. MY friends get massages and regular mani-pedi's because THEY don't still have two kids to put through college.
Having said this, even though the last child is the least pleasant of my three, I wouldn't trade places with anyone on this planet. I learn stuff y'all don't....like, well see...I forgot. The things I learned from the kids.
It's an age thing ;)
Not really. I was standing in the checkout line with a case of beer, a case of wine and two bottles of champagne. Everyone ELSE was buying milk and bread which doesn't make a lick of sense because...I'm going to be stuck in this house for two or three days with Those I Love Most? Someone better be drinking and I prefer it be me.
It's snowing in the South. This constitutes an emergency unlike anything seen anywhere else on the planet. It is a standing joke because all the weatherman has to do is mention the S word and...everyone runs out and buys milk and bread. I've never met anyone who eats milk sandwiches, but this is what we do.
ANYWAY. I was doing that thing we all do in checkout lines...surreptitiously reading the covers of the trashy rags lined up next to the candy. And without fail, there she was. The Number Two cover line on slick magazines...a middle-aged movie star holding her new baby.
The Number One? Walk Off Ten Pounds Before Dinner. Shows up on at least one magazine a week.
Well, just let me tell you what's NOT in Movie Star's article. There's no mention of the STAFF of caretakers for the new baby. There's no mention of the personal trainer who got MS back into her pre-pregnancy jeans in four days. There's no mention of the personal chef who not only cooked her meals, but served them to her and then cleaned up the mess. There's no mention of the personal assistant who's managing her "affairs," or the housekeeper who's managing the baseboards or the personal esthetician who removed all the bags and wrinkles and stretch marks and undereye circles. There's no mention...but you get the picture. It's real easy to look like that if someone else is handling all your stuff for you.
But what's funny is that standing there all beamy, holding that cute little dumpling and flashing those pearly whites, is only a click in time. The real stuff is coming and let me tell you, it's not pleasant.
After over four years of crazy infertility treatment, I had The Miracle Child In My Old Age when I was 40. Life being what it is, and God having an AWESOME sense of humor, after 28 years of unprotected sex I got up one day and I was 44 years old and pregnant. I just THOUGHT I knew about miracle children and old age.
Things They Don't Tell You...
**There will come a time you can't put your daughter's hair into a ponytail because your hands hurt too much to twist the ponytail holder. Arthritis isn't for really old people...it shows up a lot earlier than you'd think.
**Bleacher seats are tools of the devil. Evil inventions primarily designed to make your hips hurt so badly that you'll stand up indefinitely. This can get interesting when you're in a gym like...ALL DAY.
**Your peer group gets younger and younger. With The Nice Kid (the one I had at 40) I'd make jokes about the occasional parent who wasn't alive when Kennedy was shot. The last time I made that crack? I was the only one there who WAS alive when Kennedy was shot. I think I'm giving up that specific remark.
**Volunteering at school isn't fun anymore. In my case, because of The Big Kid, I've been doing this for 30 years. I don't WANT to bake any more cakes for the Fall Festival or paint any more flower pots for the bazaar or man any more ticket booths ANYWHERE. In my case? When I like the teacher? I go in at the beginning of the year and lay it out...I'm not putting my name on ANYTHING. I'm not volunteering for ANYTHING. I'm not raising my hand for ANYTHING. Having said that...if no one else will do it, call me. I probably won't say no ;)
**Clothes are not fun anymore. I don't care if everyone is wearing skin-tight leggings with high-heeled boots. Leggings make me sweat and high heels hurt my feet and BEEN THERE! DONE THAT! Which brings us to...
**Makeup sucks. I already HAVE smoky eyes, it's just that the smudges are underneath instead of on my lids. Foundation just gets in my wrinkles and blush just blends in with the rest of my red face. And those little lines around my mouth? You don't really notice them if there's no lipstick creeping toward my nose.
**My friends? The ones I grew up with? Have GRANDCHILDREN older than my youngest. MY friends are traveling. They collect antiques because hey!!! No more red Koolaid to spill on the furniture! They want to go out in the middle of the week? Great! THEY aren't failing fifth grade math for the fourth time or trying to make Playdoh into food crops like the Indians grew. MY friends get massages and regular mani-pedi's because THEY don't still have two kids to put through college.
Having said this, even though the last child is the least pleasant of my three, I wouldn't trade places with anyone on this planet. I learn stuff y'all don't....like, well see...I forgot. The things I learned from the kids.
It's an age thing ;)
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