Greetings Loyal Readers on this fine Sunday evening. Fine, because it is close to Jack's bedtime and I have made it through the day in a relatively sane manner. Chris left for work at 11AM and will return later this evening, so I have been on point ALONE with my soon-to-be seven year-old ALL DAY. Now, I know that there are some of those Mighty Moms reading this who might think, Big Deal, Pansy Lady! What is so GD hard about spending a day with your kid?
In response, I say, if you really do have to ask, perhaps this isn't the blog for you.
Now that I am comfortably settled into being 45, I thought it would be a good time to take a hard look at myself. You know, take inventory. (The problem with taking a look at myself in the above picture is that I have to then look at myself in profile and see that I have the unsightly nasolabial fold thing going on - yes, that is really the technical term - and that I am a poster child for Restylane.) That, however, is a topic for another time. One which might be covered in concert with Botox, perhaps.
Anyway, I figure that if I live to 90, I am at my mid-point. Some might find this math optimistic, but why shouldn't I live to 90? I swim several miles a week, take a cycling class, do Pilates, eat a wide variety of foods, drink red wine and don't smoke. On the other hand, I cheat with the tension in the cycling class, eat far too much of this wide variety of foods and truth be told, my unchecked downfall is the entire salty snack category. Plus, while I do indeed drink red wine, I probably drink too much of it, and not wanting to be a wine bigot, I indulge in white wine as well. Then, of course, there are the way too many cups of coffee I drink per day, my poor sleep habits (late to bed, early to rise), and the incredible stress I heap upon myself for fairly trivial reasons. Hmm. Maybe I won't make it to 90.
No matter, I will just assume that I am somewhere at the middle aged point for the purpose of my little how-am-I-doing-at-midlife evaluation.
And, how am I doing? In complete seriousness, I have to say pretty well. I am far more sane than I had ever imagined I could be and not nearly as fat as I feared I would be in my forties. The quality, joy and stability of my marriage long ago surpassed what the single me could have conjured-up in her wildest imagination. And, periodic parenting despair aside, I am consistently grateful for and reasonably content with my lot in life. And content is saying a LOT. I used to think that content meant bored. I couldn't have been more wrong. Content is a luxury I relish.
Well, I am off to brush my fangs and attempt to read more than five pages of the sumptuous Middlemarch before I nod off. Before I go, however, I would like to recommend a movie that Chris and I rented recently. Zodiac. Long, but completely riveting. One of the best movies I have seen in years.
Bye for now, Oh Loyal Ones.