By Heather LeRoss of Tipsy Tiaras
Recently, I’ve been feeling rather down about this whole aging process. I keep reading articles about women embracing their bodies, growing old gracefully (and gratefully). They’ve let go of the idea of female perfection that is unattainable. I read these and every fiber of my being wants to scream, “Yes, yes, yes! I love me just as I am and I’m going to throw out these too small clothes, buy a new wardrobe and celebrate with a box of my favorite chocolates. And wine.” But if I sit back and ask myself if this is true, I have to admit it is NOT.
Below are some reasons I haven’t fully (and lovingly) embraced aging.
[adsanity id=”35664″ align=”aligncenter”/]1. My breasts now rest comfortably on my stomach. Unless I’m lying down; then they are under my armpits. I’ve gained 10 lbs – seemingly from eating apples. I know it’s not the wine because there was an article going around saying wine is equivalent to gym time, so it’s a proven scientific fact that it’s good for me. Screw apples.
2. I’m wet. All. The. Time. Be it from crying over some ridiculous thing (like the fact that my boobs are on my stomach) or the fact that I wet myself with every sneeze or cough.
3. I forget stuff. Important stuff like, you know, WORDS. I tried to tell my husband recently that the neighborhood potholes were “posing a…you know, that bad thing. A…bad thing for people?” (The word was danger.)
[adsanity id=”35667″ align=”aligncenter”/]4. The arm waddle. You know that skin under your arms that keeps waving, long after you’ve stopped? That.
5. I can’t party anymore. I discovered the miracle of wine later in life, but I can’t seem to have more than 7 small glasses before I’m passed out on the couch, drooling. This sucks because gym time, remember?
6. My hormones have taken over, and I often have no clue who I am anymore. This, coupled with periods that often make my bathroom look like a crime scene, ensure I’m never wanting for drama in my life.
I’m sure there’s more, but guess what? I can’t remember it. I know, I should embrace this and be joyful that everyone I love is healthy, I have an amazing life and am blessed, and trust me, I AM and I do. But when I go into my closet, looking for the “miracle outfit” that makes me look put together AND allows me to breathe, I get defeated. I’ll cheer myself up with the promise of chocolate or a nice bottle of wine and…well, you see the issue?
[adsanity id=”35666″ align=”aligncenter”/]I KNOW I’m not alone; I know my village of women is out there, reading this and whispering, “Yes, me too, yes!” I am writing this to you, my friends, to let you know you are NOT alone. That I, too, can tie my boobs in a knot and bow and can’t recall that hot actor’s name. You know, the one in that movie? I, too, jiggle, which causes me to pee, and I cry at random times in my closet with my wine. I hide in the pantry and eat the good chocolate and tell myself my diet starts tomorrow. I, too, will be asleep at 8 p.m., drooling, and will wake at 2 a.m. to pee—then again at 5—because my bladder hates me.
We’re not alone. We’re survivors, wetting ourselves happily, waving as we pass, arm flab flapping, as we inch towards menopause.
MENOPAUSE??!! I give up. Pass the wine.
This post was originally published on Tipsy Tiaras.
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About the Author
Heather LeRoss is the mom to two smelly but sweet boys. She spends her days spinning in circles of crazy wearing a tiara, gripping a glass of champagne. She’s a lover of fine boxed wine and chocolate. Follow the funny and heart feels at Tipsy Tiaras. She hopes to someday be known as “Heather” again and not “those boys’ mom.”