I’m wearing a maternity top. I didn’t know that it was a maternity top when I found it in the sale rack at Target, or when I tried it on and thought, “so cute, I’m definitely buying this”. I just thought “I’m buying a really cute top for 11 bucks! Schweet! ” It wasn’t until I was hanging it up in my closet that I saw the Liz Lange Maternity label. This was cause for pause. When I was rifling through the racks, I came upon another very cute shirt, but I saw the label and thought, “Maternity?! No f&@#^in’ way I am wearing a maternity shirt! Gotta draw the line somewhere!” But now I’m home in my pjs and I’m looking at this reaaallly cute top, and I have no desire to go back to Target in an irate snit because they are mixing maternity in with regular and it’s their f&@^%#*in’ fault I can’t tell the difference! So, I hang it up. And this morning I put it on. And it’s still cute, although I’m a little ticked off that it’s not particularly loose on me. Shouldn’t it be really loose around the middle since I’m not pregnant!!?? WTF?!?! Of course, after I’m done cussing and swearing, I realize that as I have gotten, vintage, (see what I did there?), I have developed quite the spare tire around my middle, and although I’m at a weight that I have been at before in my life, the body itself, this squat round, lumpy figure? Clearly belongs to someone else. Seriously. Come and get it. And if you will return the body I used to have, no questions asked, all will be forgiven. Things change. I mean, we all look at our elders and see the wrinkles, the walkers, the grey hair. We understand in an oblique way that things change. But no one really talks about the less obvious stuff. The skimpy eyelashes. The disappearing chin. The gas. The lack of sleep. The ridiculousness going on in our lady parts. People, it’s a war zone down there!! These are the things no one tells you about. I dare you to open a medicine cabinet of some one over 55 and NOT see a tube of Preparation H. Don’t let those proud, wise, elders fool you. Getting older is one humiliating indignity after another! I for one, am PISSED!
But. I don’t sleep alone on the subway. I don’t wake up every morning wishing I hadn’t. I don’t pray every night to get well, to spare my loved one, to give me a reason to go on. I am healthy, I am loved, I am safe. I laugh, I create, I belong. Life is a series of give and takes, and if a spare tire is the only thing I have to bitch about right now, I am blessed.