Beauty is Fleeting

Aging is cruel to women. There are those occasional women who get more beautiful with age, but alas, I am not so foolish as to believe I belong in that category.

Last night I found myself on the rare trip to Wal-Mart. I was on the baking goods aisle when I spotted what I first thought were two teenage girls. They had their backs to me. One was wearing jeans, the other a dress. I noticed something seemed not quite right because the girl in the dress was wearing those really super thick hose, the kind the drill team girls used to wear. She was wearing them with open-toe shoes, but I digress.

Anyway, she turned around and VOILA! It's not a teenager but a woman probably, at best, in her late 30's (mother of the teen wearing jeans). She'd clearly had some breast work done, as I saw about 65% of her curves in the low cut neckline.

I'm the type who will ogle like a 14 year-old boy, so I had to force myself to avert my eyes. The poor men around me were really sweating! Part of me was in awe because, honestly, I envied her look if only for her ability to defy gravity. Gravity has never been a friend of mine; thank you Sir Isaac Newton. But it made me sad, too. It was like she was trying to look as young as her daughter. Yet in doing so, she only made herself look older.

But I get it. Every year, it takes a little more makeup, a little more hair color and a LOT more underwear to just maintain my look. Meanwhile, my husband can be seven years older, gain a little weight and sport a head full of gray hair but he becomes more attractive. Especially if he puts on a suit. No spanx for him.

Maybe I am shallow, but to be perfectly honest, this makes me unbelievably sad.

A Year of Silence

Every few weeks or so I think, "I should blog about that." And then I don't. Weeks turn into months and here we are almost a year later. Wow.

So, where have I been in 2010? Let's see, having a mid life crisis takes quite a bit of time. Unfortunately, it's only lead to lots of questioning inside my head instead of manifesting itself in a little fast sports car. Were it only that simple.

Alas, I'm going to try to start writing again. I feel like I am heard when I write - even if no one reads it.

Devilish Details

Life has been too much to handle lately. Too intense to even blog about it because then I'd have to reflect on the craziness even more. But here's a bit of an update:

Pregnant teen gave birth. She went into labor at 3 a.m. at my house a few weeks ago. After all was said and done, she decided to "keep the baby for a while and give it a try," the worst decision of her life until this point. Some will disagree, saying if you ever have any doubt you should keep your baby. Well, I've been on the inside track of this gal's life for the last decade. Her family does not love her. Sporadic affection, maybe. But love? No.

Case in point: twelve hours before she went into labor, her sister kicked her out of the house with all her stuff in bags and left her standing in the rain. That's why she was at my house when the contractions started.

There's so much to the story--too much to put here. What amazed me was all of the family that came out of the woodwork during the delivery. Where have they been for the last 9 months? Baby daddy showed up too. It was very dramatic. Sources tell me the night after the birth, teen and BD were spooned up in the bed. I guess he'll be spooning the other gal he also inpregnated here in a month or so.

I never really believed she would give her baby up for adoption. Girls like her don't do that very often because deep down they hope maybe their baby will provide the love they've been denied their entire life. For a few hours, teen finally had the attention of her family. I'm sure in a few weeks the newness will wear off and she'll be left standing out in the rain, this time with a baby on her hip, no money, no job, no prospects. And yes, she'll suffer. But this baby boy will suffer the most. I grieve the life he could've had with a family who would've loved him.

Where was God in all this? I don't know. Lots of optimistic folks spew feel-good clichés, but having been in the trenches on this one, I'm calling BS. God was the sweet Mennonite family ready to take that baby home. The devil was in the details. Generational details like drug abuse, selfishness, irresponsibilty, bad parenting and a lack of love. God may win in the end, but the evil one sure takes his share on Earth.

An Exercise in Futility

I once wrote a paper with the above title-- and it was the final for my bassoon class. Life's gotten more complicated since college.

We moved here nine years ago. I was 23, naive and good-hearted. I thought it might be nice to volunteer. And so I became a "mentor" with the public school system. During my time as a mentor, I became acquainted with three young girls. With two of them I am still in touch -- one, our relationship only lasted for a year or two but oddly enough, I ran into her last week at the grocery store. She had a job there. We spoke pleasantries to one another and that was that.

The two with whom I am still in contact both dropped out of high school, one has had a baby and the other is currently pregnant. The currently pregnant teen comes from, at best, a tulmultuous (dare I say crazy?) and non-supportive family situation.

This week, I've been helping her navigate the system so that she can get in to see a doctor. DHS smells like hopelessness and despair.

I don't know if I really have a point here, except the effort feels useless. And I'm not saying I regret it or that I want to ditch the relationships. I guess what I am saying is that I see how critical good parenting really is. I've spent countless hours and dollars on these girls, and the net result was still the same because they went home every night to a situation of drugs or abuse or ambivalence.

Thus the cycle continues, unless this generation decides to give her baby a better life through adoption. I'm scared to even be optimistic for fear of jinxing the whole thing.

Robbing the Cradle

I've have some very lovely single girlfriends in their 30's. Smart, beautiful, educated, Christian women who have much to offer their male counterparts. But guess who these young women are now competing with out in the dating circuit? The female toddlers they used to babysit when they were teenagers. It seems horribly unfair, and even though I am happily married and not "out there," it makes me sad for my sweet friends searching for love.

Hormonally-Challenged

Gosh, I read my last post and almost jumped out the window. You'll be happy to know that the doctor prescribed me an extra dose of estrogen and that half-pill every night turned my outlook on life around in 48 hours. I think what's amazed me most over this course of treatment is how much I'm really controlled by hormones.

Men think we're nuts and just using hormones as an excuse to be cranky. But I'm here to tell you, and I think my husband would agree, when I was estrogen-deficient, my whole persona changed. I was a different person. Weepy, depressive, angry, impatient, exhausted, ravenously hungry, etc. I'm sure I was hell to live with.

I was talking to a friend of mine who went through Lupron treatment, too, although hers was to get her ready for invitro. She told me she had to have her head checked every week and that she thought she was losing her mind. Glad to know I'm not alone. She couldn't have estrogen due to the upcoming invitro, so I am really glad that a little pill can help me "normalize."

For an update, I did lose 2.8 pounds my first week on WW. Last week, I lost another 0.8 pounds. It's slow going but I am feeling optimistic. Frankly, just feeling optimistic is nice for a change. My pants are fitting a tiny bit looser, so I'm putting my muffin-top on notice.

Missing the Points

I started Weight Watchers this week. I'm on my seventh day and it's been an emotional rollercoaster. How much of that has to do with hormones I'm not sure, but I think that's definitely a factor.

I've never been a girl with a weight fixation or issue. I've been very lucky/blessed in that regard. When I was younger, I could eat anything I wanted and it would disappear. Put it this way-- the doctor tested me for a tapeworm when I was 7.

Of course, as I've gotten older the ol' metabolism's slowed down a bit, but all and all I've stayed within 10 lbs of where I've always been in an adult body. Until 2009. The medication I've been on since November 2008 has wreaked havoc with my mind, emotions and now my booty. Since January, I've put on 15-18 pounds. Which is a lot on a frame like mine. And please, save me the affirming "you still look good" comments because you haven't seen me naked, none of my pants fit, and my lower half looks like it's been slapped with a sack of nickels. And, I just keep thinking if it only took me three or four months to put on that initial weight, I could flippin' double my fun by, say-- AUGUST! And then I would definitely need to get that tapeworm off the internet.

So, I went to Weight Watchers last Tuesday, wrote down a number in the little book that made me cringe, and sat thru the meeting (next to a good friend, thank God). That was hard. Not because the meeting or the people, the just "being there." I got there early to sign up and weigh-in. During the process, I made jokes and kept it light to try and make myself feel better, but I was DYING inside. I was just trying to keep it together and not cry. Sidenote: I hate crying in front of people. They always want to comfort you which usually ends up in an awkward (for me) embrace.

I also decided that this was as good a time as any to start a work-out program-- because, you know, why take things one step at a time? The first walk/run, I was crying on the track. Like I said, I am an emotional wreck.

As the week passed, it's gotten easier. I only had one Coke, and sadly, it wasn't as good as I'd been fantasizing it would be. However, it was a can and not from Sonic which is my drug of choice. I did my third "walk/run" in the couch to 5K program I started, so now my next run will be "week two." I haven't cheated on the points thing. I have like 29 flex points left, so I think I really stuck to the program this first week. But I have a nagging feeling.

If I go and weigh in tomorrow, and I've gained weight or stayed the same, I honestly don't know what I'll do. Outside, I'm sure I'll make a joke and keep my chin up, but inside, I'll be a puddle on the floor.