Me: "Who has the best seat in the house, me or daddy?"

Adam: "Well, Daddy's is nice, but yours is best. Your's is squishier."

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

See Above


Mom at age 28, from a photo I found this week in a box.

I've been lookin'
at my neck lately. 
Blame late night infomercials with 50 year old former super-models that look all hot and perky. I seem to have lost my perk somewhere (maybe with my cell phone?).  My neck is getting all... gross.  Loose, and... crinkly.  Oh, and when I suck in my belly (besides that it pretty much just laughs at me and says "Whatever, lady.") it gets all puckery.  My eye lids no longer retract when I gently brush them with makeup.  They just stay there, all crookedy-weird until I push them back into place with my finger.  When I look down, besides the fact that I am seeing that my once lovely cleavage (and trust me folks, it was Streisand in Funny-Girl lovely) has begun forking at the top and resembles an aerial view of the Sacramento River delta, now I can also actually feel my double chin as it rides up.  Sometimes when I blink, one of my eye lids just skips the whole folding-up thing and just droops onto my eyelashes.  It's night of the living dead over here, ladies, and that's at 8AM.  Add a hump to my back and I'm ready for Halloween.

When did this all happen?  I mean, duh, I know I'm not 20.  Or 30.  Or 40... (ouch.  That one hurt.).  I'm just saying, when the heck did I grow up?  I look at Ethan and I remember 14 like it was September (which I am lucky to remember at all.  Let's just stick with the body though, the memory thing is a whole other post).  It happened one insidious little wrinkle at a time, each wrinkle with a corresponding moment.  And the moments are popping up more often than the weird hairs that are showing up in the general lady-beard area:

While cleaning out the fridge at 6PM on Saturday night, I was anxious to finish so that I could get in one more load of laundry.

My favorite songs, the ones that really rocked my Kazbah, are now being used in mop commercials.

Talk Radio.  I mean, seriously, when did I start caring about my retirement?

I found myself in a conversation about aches and pains, and dude, I was winning.

I made a file for coupons.  Oh, honey, it gets worse.  I am getting excited about shopping sales with coupons. 

I seriously considered buying some Spanx.  And I thought nothing could be worse than my skirted one-piece bathing suit.

I complained that the skirt on my one-piece isn't quite long enough.

I no longer shave above the knees (see above).

I got a zit in a wrinkle.  Seriously? 

My nursing bra is currently the sexiest bra I own.  Oh, well, wait, there is my jogging bra; nothing says sexy like a uni-boob.  I better get back to ya' with this one.

I could have been my doctor's babysitter.  That one just sucks.

I got excited about the fact that my gray hair is clearly the "silver" kind, not that dull yellowish stuff.  I wonder what pastel shade I will choose?

I have a garage full of total crap.  That doesn't happen over night, people.

I could have ice cream right now, but I won't, even though I want some.  That part of being a grown-up is just lame.

Even though I work out every day, I still look 3 months pregnant.  Ok, four.  Five... oh, shut up.

I don't know any singer's names on the radio. 

I kinda don't care (see above).

My son accused me of listening to froofey music on the radio and I couldn't argue with him because (you know the drill, see above).

The newlywed couple at church seriously looks like they are both twelve. 

I am planning my Saturdays around things like garage sales, soccer games and yard work.

I don't like roller-coasters anymore.  And frankly, the whole wait-in-line-two-hours for a ride just ain't worth it, what with my aches and pains (see abov... never mind).

I used to want to lose weight so that I would look like I used to.  Now I am afraid that if I do, I will just look like the saggy-baggy elephant.  Oh, and it is no longer about looking hot, it's about not embarrassing my kids. 

***

Not long ago I wiped the makeup smudges from under my eyes and Ethan leaned in real close and stared at me from about an inch away.

"You.  Are.  OOOOOOLD."  He said flatly.

A week or so later he let me know that
the pores on my face are "becoming giant holes."

"Look,"  I said, "It's all down hill from here, kid.  You better get used to it, cause this is as good as I'm ever gonna look again.  *So DEAL*."

Sound, and rather depressing advice. 
I know... I hear you.
*see above*.

5 comments:

A Yiddish Cat Lady said...

Oh sister - you're singin' my song!

CJ said...

HAHAHA! You rock my boat and make me giggle! Way to say it!

Jackie said...

I laughed right out loud when I read this. A few times. I was just finishing a panic attack because I feel like something must be desperately wrong with me. I feel so weird, so forgetful, like I can't even remember that I'm forgetting something anymore. Strange. Your post just lightened the mood enough for me to get to try to get a grip.

Bald n Beautiful said...

That is the best post ever! A nice good laugh in the afternoon.

julean said...

This was very funny, Laine. I try to not look too closely. But I will say that the hairs I think are 'that silvery color', Zack tells me are still blonde. He knows just what to say. :) I won't correct him any time soon.