I’m distracted by this Anthony Weiner news. One would hardly equate motherhood with a news story of this ilk, and I’m not. But it’s Monday afternoon and I was going to write about aspects of being a mom – but first, we have to talk.
Is it not clear at this point in the history of the World Wide Web that if you take pictures of yourself, or have them taken, there’s an excellent chance they’ll end up online?! And if you’re a politician, it’s guaranteed to reach the media if the photos are of a salacious nature??!!! OMG, OMG, OMG!! What’s the thought process here, Anthony?!
“I’ve been putting in some serious time at the gym. Young women I don’t know deserve to share in my hard work. I think I’ll take some pictures in my living room of my naked chest and send them out.”
“Well, would you look at that? I’m erect. Where’s my iPhone? I can’t possibly hide this light under a bushel.”
At no time, Tony – can I call you Tony? – did you think as a congressman from New York who riles some folks in Washington that someone might get their hands on these photos and use them against you?
“So what if they do? I’ll just lie. It worked for Clinton and Edwards.” No, it didn’t Tony. Clinton was impeached by the House of Representatives. Edwards’ story is a Greek tragedy. Does the name Chris Lee ring a bell? Are you just a giant idiot?!
So you say you won’t resign. Fine, but if I was living in Brooklyn now and seriously considered you as the next mayor of New York City if and when Bloomberg stops extending his term, I’m changing my mind. In fact, I won’t even vote for you next time your gig is up as a rep. You had some great passion arguing your points in Congress. I liked you, but now? Ewww. Skanky horn dog. Tough to take you seriously after this. I wish your wife luck finding a place for this in your marriage. I feel like a fool for believing your story about your Twitter account being hacked. I defended you on Daily Cup, thank you very much. We’ve got serious problems in this country that we need to address. We didn’t need this, you ass.
Okay, I’m done.
I’ve been weepy lately, but not in a bad way. Bun Bun scored a beautiful goal in her soccer game on Saturday and suddenly I wanted to ball my eyes out. Miss T whispered her usual “I love you” as I was walking out of her room last night and I got a lump in my throat. Today, the girls’ school was dedicating a “peace pole” in the courtyard and one of the doves they released settled into a bush, slightly terrified. I scooped it up and into the air and gulped so my daughters wouldn’t be embarrassed as their mother fell to pieces. Goldie turns twelve on Wednesday and I’m confident I won’t make it through the day without becoming verklempt. What the heck is wrong with me?
Drum roll, please…
I’ve heard it referred to as menopause.
I refuse to turn this website into a treatise on the changes in my life, but people, we’re talking about THE change that comes about 35 to 40 years after the last big upheaval. I claimed in February that it was the precursor, but who am I kidding? It’s the real deal. I’m younger than most women are when they reach this stage (seriously, I am) but as of this month, it’s official. I’m done with the childbearing years. Done, done, done. No more babies for me. Am I sad? Not at all. I haven’t even thought about pregnancy since I had Miss T in the oven. It’s just so, so, so…weird.
The women in my family all rid themselves of their innards down there years ago before they hit this stage. One of my sisters can talk to me about hot flashes, but that’s about it. And I never had hot flashes. I had hot weeks. I took happy pills so I skipped the dangerous mood swings that make your family wonder who the crazy woman is living in their house. In February, I spoke of a reinvention. We’ve made some progress, though not much. Am I a fool to think I was just waiting for the official end of my former self, the one who could populate the earth, before embarking on a new one? Don’t answer that.
So why am I so weepy now? How the heck should I know? They are tears of joy and wonderment, though, so maybe I’m merely relieved to be done with the part of my life I never fully understood, and I’m just so grateful to have come out of it relatively unscathed, with three beautiful children and a husband who doesn’t post photos of his junk on Twitter.
Right about now, I feel like singing “Don’t Rain on My Parade” but first, a little basketball with the girls, maybe a good cry after dinner. Then I’ll march my band out and beat my drum.