Things That Make You Go, “Damn, I’m Old”

Most days I think of age as just a number. I’m 42 but hey I can still bust a move on the dance floor, although I need to pop a few Advil the next day. I can also lip sync Lady Gaga in my car with the best of them, but this completely mortifies my girls and they end up screaming, “Mom STOP,” in increasing decibel levels when we approach their school, our house, or pretty much anywhere they could be recognized in public. I don’t wear mom jeans and I actually wear skinny jeans. I love to go out, or really the idea of going out, because, let’s face it lately I’m happy to be in bed on the weekends by 11.

OK 10.

Despite my relatively youthful outlook on life, minus a few aches and pains, here are some things that are making me feel older than 42 lately:

  • The Karate Kid is 50

  • Andy Rooney was 92

  • Some of my co-workers are young enough to be my children (should I have had children in my very early 20s)

  • Some of my high school friends have kids in high school and even college or, gasp, who are married

  • My 11-year-old dog and I are both taking glucosamine

  • I recently bought muscle rub, Ibuprofen, and Epsom salts at the drug store and got a printout coupon about AARP membership

  • My 25-year high school reunion is next summer

I know age is just a number, right?

The Forty Fifteen

I never gained the Freshman Fifteen, you know the 15 pounds women tend to pack on their first year of college because they’re living on pizza, beer, and powdered donuts from the corner gas station.

No, I waited until after Miss A was born and my metabolism dropped off the face of the earth. Or maybe it’s just because I started blogging that year. Ahem. I’m sure there is NO correlation.

At one point this summer I was inching in steadily on gaining almost 15 pounds over the course of 5 years. 15 pounds in 5 years. Maybe that doesn’t sound like a lot to you, but these were stealth pounds slowly and methodically attaching themselves to my rear end. And no, I don’t consider myself overweight and I am a fairly petite person, but honestly FIFTEEN POUNDS IN FIVE YEARS?! When you’re 5 foot 2 that is just a considerable amount of weight to distribute. Also? I wasn’t about to start buying bigger size clothing.

I’ve been trying to exercise more this summer and watching what I eat sort of half heartedly (oh I’ll have a burger and not a cheeseburger, yawn) but the real clincher was when I saw myself being interviewed on TV last month.

Let me tell ya’ll, vanity hath no fury like a woman who sees her tired, puffy self on TV. (Oh darn…the video is no longer online.)

I have kicked up the exercise a notch, walking in the mornings and night, and I’ve been counting calories. Wow it turns out that actually eating LESS and exercising MORE works. What a novel concept!

I weighed this morning and I’m down 6 pounds.

Take that Forty Fifteen!

A Letter To My Formerly Flat Stomach


Me in 1994, 24 years old, at Jacksonville Beach, Florida. Let’s not calculate how long ago this was. Ahem.


Dear Tan and Toned Stomach of 1994:


I miss you terribly. I am now dedicated to starting at the ceiling and doing crunches for the next 30 days in a quest to win you back.

I am determined.

I am also really, really white.

My legs have apparently lost the ability to tan, although I get an impressive soccer mom arm tan. This is all probably a result of being under fluorescent office lighting for more than a decade.

Had I known that you and I were at the peak of our relationship 16 years ago then I would have shown you off more. Maybe I would have even gotten my belly button pierced, but then there was the time my roommate got hers pierced and it got infected and well, that was unpleasant.

Memorial Day Weekend will soon be here and I’m hoping we can be reunited in time for the great bathing suit reveal.

I thought I was ready to reunite last summer before I turned 40, but I’m lazy.

I’ve ignored you for far too long. I just can’t promise I’ll ever put on a bikini again.

I’m rockin’ the tankini now.

Love,

The 40-Year-Old Mother Who Is Going To Set Fire To The Next Victoria’s Secret Catalog She Sees

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