No Coca-Cola, please…

healthy fruit

Photo from pixabay

So, there comes a time in your life when you REALLY … I mean really have to reevaluate what goes in your mouth because it does not all come out on the other side.

In fact, where once it would magically disappear, it now finds your thighs.  And your arms.  And your belly.  It even finds your neck and your cheeks.  Heck, it finds BOTH sets of cheeks.

Yes.  Where once you could eat whatever you wanted, the time will always come where that is no more.

Mine didn’t hit at 30.  It didn’t hit at 35.  Or 36 when I had Max.  In fact, after Max, I had only about 10 pounds left to lose when I got pregnant with Josephine (10 months after Max).  So, I was pretty sure it would be okay with Josephine.

And then 40 hit.  And it didn’t matter if I ate 1 potato chip or the entire bag, it all seemed to find a place .

For me, it’s pretty much on what Max and Jo literally, lovingly call my “squishy belly…”  In fact, they are so cute about it as they proclaim daily, “MOMMA, we LOVE your squishy belly!  It’s like a squishy pillow!  Oh, you’re so squishy…”

And they go on and on and on and on…I could so “SQUISHY” them after awhile, eh?!  (smile and wink)

Anyhow, all of this to say that I have officially decided to not drink “as much” soda as before.  Try not to eat as many cookies as before.  Avoid chips, when possible (smile smile wink wink again).

Therefore, when my husband was leaving to go grocery shopping, I told him to not bring me a Coke.

Proud moment, right?!

Too short, unfortunately, because then I followed it by saying, “But don’t forget the whipped cream for my coffee!”

HAHAHA!

Seriously.

I did.

And, with that, I have come to the deep conclusion…

What is life, anyway, without a little whipped cream?

Go, whipped cream, find my thighs.  They are waiting for you.

Bring on my coffee!

(insert whipped cream can aerosol-like spray and a happily sighing, coffee-slurping momma)

 

Do you want to wax your mustache?????

Are you freaking KIDDING me?!

First I turn FORTY—as if that is NOT bad enough—and then I go to get my eyebrows waxed when the lady doesn’t seem to think that IT (turning 40) is FITTING enough–but now she must POINT OUT and ASK…

“ARE YOU ALSO HERE TO GET YOUR MUSTACHE WAXED????”

My laser eyes and deadly stare did NOTHING to hinder her from asking again, “AND YOUR MUSTACHE????”

I gasped as if I still have my 18-year-old glow and youth and not a STRAY whisker ANYWHERE on my face and answered her, “MY MUSTACHE????!!!!  I don’t have a mustache!!!!!”  And huffed loudly as I threw my awesome body (okay, lowered myself gently due to my aching back) onto the waxing lounge and pointed out that “I DO NOT, under any circumstances, WANT CRAZY TRENDY EYEBROWS!  JUST SIMPLE WAXING…please.”

Before I got off the chair, she, DAFT AS A…????  Well, who knows what—something daft… ASKED AGAIN, “Are you sure you don’t want the mustache waxed???”

Yes, LADY!  Very sure…

Right?

Or, I mean, do I have a mustache????

Go to mirror…

Peer closely…

Squint, really, since my eyes are not the best.

Still can’t see.  Turn glasses crooked on my nose so that I can see (all bi-focal style)…and re-peer.

Surely that is not a mustache, it’s simply glitter, right?!?!?!  A light glistening above my upper lip????

Right!

And, so with indignance, I walk PROUDLY out of that salon…

Mustache and all.

 

So Forty!

nunsintorun

Like I am so overwhelmingly 40 that someone could write a book about 40 based upon my life.

I bloat—and automatically 3 people ask if I’m pregnant.

I say—“No.  I am not pregnant.  Just 40.”

One kind man looked confused and said, “Thirty?”

And I said, “No, 40…And I am not having any more  (bold and underline this, please) children.”

He went on to tell me I still have time for one more…

I went on to tell him a thing or two…(Okay—nice things 😉 ).

I have two small kids and a 10 year old.  The ten year old is an angel because she can shower and brush her teeth all alone.

The others—it’s like, “What’s that?  You need to go on the toilet AGAIN????  Aren’t you still in diapers??????????”  And then I remember that he is officially 4.  So I follow him into the toilet and wipe his little bum after he goes number 2.

The last is like “NOOOOOOO!!!!!!  I do it!”  And if you enter her presence without her permission, she is like “THIS IS MY ROOM!!!!!!”  And if she was not so RIDICULOUSLY the cutest thing walking this earth, it would just not be so cute (smile smile wink wink)  Okay, okay…It’s pretty typical 2 and cute.

And then there are those that days that my little son brings me cookies and I ask, “Did you eat lunch?” And he’s like “No, my tummy is not hungry for food.”  So I open his cookies and send him on his way just so that I can have a spare moment alone to eat my own cookies.

Friends…I am SOOOOO 40!  Beyond, totally 40.

And while I mostly handle it fine—I realize that the babcia in me is starting to sneak out (grandma for those that don’t know what babcia means)…And then I realize that these are not my grandkids but my kid-kids.  I am suppose to be MONITORING their sugar intake —NOT increasing it 😉

Oh me oh my oh my oh me!!!!!

I am Brooke.  And I.AM.FORTY.

Can I take a nap, please?????