Zen and the Art of Motherhood

Life can be funny. Seems it likes to play some pretty cruel jokes on me in particular. Its like being repeatedly Punk'd without having Ashton Kutcher come out from behind a wall or curtain or whatever it is he does. Darn the luck.

What could be so bad, you might ask? Just when I finally had all my kids in school, I got surprise number one. As my twins (come to think of it, they were surprise number one) were finishing up first grade, I found out I was pregnant with child number four.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love the little guy. He touches our lives in ways we never thought possible.  I couldn't imagine life without him. But getting him into the world was a tad problematic.

First of all, it was a big jolt to the system. You see, in my mind I was done. I gave away all the baby things, was thinking of going back to work and had just gotten used to my time alone. Silly me.

Second, I was not spring chicken. This all came to be at the ripe old age of 42. Do you know what its like walking into a maternity store where all the other customers are 20 years your junior? It was quite a trip, let me tell you. So was re-entering the wonderful world of diapers, strollers and bouncy seats.

Third is the fact that pregnancy most definitely does not become me. I know so many people who loved being pregnant. Who actually glowed. Me? I took on a funky green hue. I drooled.  Yep, you got that right, I actually freaking drooled.  I also had morning sickness from hell not only in the first trimester, but the second and third too. It got so bad, I ended up sporting a lovely combination of tubes and IVs before all was said and done.

Once the little guy was born, things improved.  Although I'm convinced an old geezer like me is just not meant to run after a highly-active, super-precocious child.  Or wake up twenty times a night with a newborn. This little engine ran out of steam just looking at the mountain.

Then the cruelest trick of all was played on my poor, abused body.  About a year after the Little Stinker made his arrival, my hormones decided to go on strike. Seems they had enough of this whole child-bearing thing.

When I was pregnant, I used to joke(the operative word being joke) that since I was such an old pregnant person, I was gonna go straight from pregnancy to menopause.

IT WAS A JOKE, PEOPLE!  Come on, I didn't MEAN it.

Too late to take it back, I'm left to suffer the natural consequences.  Damn, I hate natural consequences.  Like the fact that instead of being able to loose my baby weight, I added another 20 on for good measure.  I could feel the pounds packing on every time I just looked at something yummy.

Oh, I can't forget the hot flashes.  Those pesky things always hit right in the middle of a meeting, a party or some other public venue. And the looks?  You'd think I'd grown two heads.  The gray hair isn't too pleasant either.  But that's nothing a little box every month or so can't take care of.  There's no way in hell I'm going to get the grandma question in the kindergarten pick up line.

But I have to say, the very worst of the worst is the mood swings. You don't think you're crazy when they start.  You're being perfectly reasonable.  Then, right in the middle of your hour-long rant about the price of eggs it hits you.  Holy crap!  Just get me my straight jacket, hon...I'll go ahead and make the call.

So if you find me ranting from time to time, have no fear.  I'm really not that scary.  Not all the time at least.  And if you want to keep your distance I understand.  I'm not hard to miss.  I'm the one pushing a stroller with one hand, holding a cane in the other with a constant stream of sweat running down my face.  Ain't getting old grand?