This is kind of embarrassing and don’t tell anyone but I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Oddly enough, the only time it gives me a problem is when the kids are being extra annoying or when my son has a blowout diaper I don’t want to change. Whenever these things happen, IBS is the perfect excuse to escape to the bathroom where I can lock the door and soak in a new People magazine. Okay, so maybe it’s not really IBS, but how else am I going to ditch my husband with the kids? The red toilet seat impression on my tush is well worth the alone time.
The problem is the more I read People magazine, the worse I feel. And I’m not referring to the way my stomach feels. Unless you’re talking about how mushy it is. You see the more I gawk at celebrities, the worse I feel about how I look. Especially since I had my second child. The pregnancy, the lack of sleep, the absence of makeup—all of these things have brought me down a notch, or five.
Like take the issue I’m reading now. It has this whole article called Chic at Every Age. The first thing I do is look for the person who’s my age to see how I compare. Do you do that too? This time it’s Sofia Vergara. Wait a sec, I’m as old as she is?! Seriously?! She’s like twice my height, her boobs are ten times the size of mine, and she makes as much in one Pepsi commercial as I’ll probably make in a lifetime. Oh, and to make things worse, she isn’t even on the young people page anymore. Moving up a decade also means I have to turn to the middle-aged section now. If I weren’t having a midlife crisis I’d say kill me now.
After looking at the picture of Sofia, I make the mistake of looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Aggggh! Note to self, go to Target and buy a new mirror (I’m the woman who has every mirror in the store lined up along the aisle to figure out which one is the skinniest one). The first thing I notice in my reflection is my post nursing bazoombas. Ever see those ladies in National Geographic with the boobies that look more like udders? Hello, that’s me. But I lift my arms up over my head and suddenly they’re perky again, like the boobs I used to have. Then I glance at my face. Is it just me or am I starting to look more like a basset hound? And not in a cute way. OMG, the jowls are beginning to take shape, so while my arms are still lifted over my head, I use my hands to pull back my cheek skin until it’s taut. Okay, now my top half is looking better, but my muffin top is making me two things—disgusted and hungry. I turn to the side and suck in my stomach. Ahhh, that’s a little better. Oh, and I also stand on my tiptoes to get the high heels effect.
While I’m standing there making all of these adjustments, I don’t really look more like Sofia Vergara, but at least I look closer to the way I did in high school. I guess I could go get Botox, a breast lift, a tummy tuck and high heels, but what kind of example would I be setting for my daughter. No, I’ll just walk around like this, thank you. Would it be weird if I stood this way at my next high school reunion?
And that’s when it occurs to me. What am I thinking?! I’m not 40 yet! I have approximately 77 days, 8 hours and 47 minutes until I’m 40. I’ve been so focused on getting ready for the big 4-0, I accidentally got too ready and jumped the gun. Phew, I feel better now. I gleefully go back a page to the young person section to see who People magazine says is chic at 39. Kate Beckinsale. Oh fuck. I sure hope tomorrow’s Groupon is for plastic surgery.