I always thought turning 50 was going to suck. Menopause (mental pause) was going to suck away my sex drive, my figure and part of my brain. All that would be left behind would be a saggy-skinned shell with a thick middle who wears comfy clothes and aimlessly mutters about lost keys. Yes, part of that nightmare is true; it is harder to lose weight and there are days when I fear I will lose my way home. (I think the loss of grey matter comes more from raising kids than losing estrogen).
My 48th birthday did suck. Without reliving the details, I’ll just say that I started the day alone, pissed off and fearing that this was the beginning of 40 or 50 more sucky birthdays to follow. Then I got my wake up call. It was a neon green bus with the back half of the roof cut off and it was full of grown men wearing what looked like girl scout uniforms with plaster anteater heads. It was 10 a.m. and they were all drinking beer. The fun girl I used to be woke up. I wanted on that bus. Screw whining about the people who forgot my birthday, I found some people who looked like they might want to celebrate my birthday (or any day, really). I tailed them till I caught up with them at a light. I rolled down my window to invite myself on board just as the the light changed and they turned left.
OK, so the bus got away that day (I’ve since tracked it down. . . adventures to follow), but the lesson didn’t get away. I used to be silly and daring and FUN, three things that just didn’t mesh well with motherhood. But now my kids are getting older, they need me less and less so I can be the old me more and more. That was the start of my really fun midlife crisis.
I test drove a sexy convertible Camero. But because I would have to fold my tall sons into thirds to get them in the back seat, I had to get the unsexy Suburban instead. But I’m rockin it. My motto is: I’ve got a V8 and 10,000 airbags, get out of my way. (Not to mention 10 cup holders and a great stereo).
Piece by piece I’ve donated anything fugly or frumpy to my local Goodwill. I don’t dress like I’m 20, but my new look hardly says over-the-hill either. I’m aiming for a look that says, “I like myself the way I am.” The two bikinis I’ve been wearing this summer show off my curves that I’ve just recently started to love.
I’ve decreased the amount of time I spend with angry or petty people. I read smutty romance novels and have lost the fear that my academic credentials will be stripped away if anyone finds out. I discovered the beautiful sport (beautiful men, that is) soccer. Google and you’ll see why I am a dedicated Olivier Giroud, Aaron Ramsey and Arsenal Football club fan.
And I’ve got great plans for my 50th birthday. No black balloon party for me. I’m getting my first tattoo and jumping out of a perfectly good airplane — attached to the best looking tandem jump buddy I can find.
So whether you are close to 50, 60 or 20 I’d love to share my adventures with you. And I’d love to hear from you too. I’ll be posting about my passion for fashion, obsession with food, crazy love of beautiful and efficient design, and struggles as the lone girly-girl in a family of super smart, geeky guys.
Welcome to my world.