The Scare - Is it a baby? Is it menopause?

So ok - I suck. You guys have to tell me how you got your men to acquiesce to the ball snip - aka - vasectomy. Mine won’t do it - and I’m not about to ruin my tummy tuck with an open abdominal surgery (they can’t go in with a laparascope thru your belly button if you’ve had one - heads up).

Onward - I had a Mirena, for 5 years - then when my daughter was a shade under 5, they showed it to me in an ultrasound. I didn’t like seeing it in there - why did I have to walk around with a mini grappling hook in my uterus? Besides, Mirena releases low-dose hormone directly into your uterine lining. Since I wasn’t going to quit smoking, and I really didn’t want to have a stroke, I directed the OB to pull it.

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Romance, Mystery and The Common Cold

Every generation seems to have its version of advice on how to enhance romance. In the 70s, there was Marabel Morgan’s Total Woman, which basically advised women to be a combination of biblical helpmeet and Playboy bunny. (Joan Rivers tried the suggestion that wives wrap themselves in Saran wrap and nothing else, and lie down on the kitchen table, and her husband’s reaction was, “What, leftovers again?”)

In the 90s, there were The Rules, telling women to play hard to get and never to admit how much money they made. And these days you can find hundreds of books recommending that a wife turn over all the finances to her husband because “it’s too hard for li’l ole me”, even if she’s the primary breadwinner.

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Meatloaf and Mood Swings

The only way in which I even remotely resemble Martha Stewart is weekday meal planning - no, I’m not smoking my own lox or carving radish roses, but I’ve learned to prep dinners in the morning, so on hectic days of driving kids to activities until dinnertime, I have something ready to heat up.

This is less a display of organization than a bribe to myself (if I get through the hellish afternoon, I’ll actually have a dinner I enjoy instead of stale leftovers or take-out I can’t afford).

This morning was fairly typical - during the time it took me to assemble one meatloaf, I went through a day’s worth of perimenopausal mood changes.

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Mother-In-Law Monday!

Today is not just Monday, it is WorkingMomLifeline.com ’s Mother-in-Law Monday!

The rules are simple. VERY simple:

1) Share your best Mother-In-Law story (or stories) as comments to this blog.

2) Keep it clean and keep out an actual name of your (or your “friend’s”) Mother-In-Law

3) Submit comment, repeat on Mondays as needed.

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Mother-In-Law Monday

Today is not just Monday, it is WorkingMomLifeline.com ’s Mother-in-Law Monday!

The rules are simple. VERY simple:

1) Share your best Mother-In-Law story (or stories) as comments to this blog.

2) Keep it clean and keep out an actual name of your (or your “friend’s”) Mother-In-Law

3) Submit comment, repeat on Mondays as needed.

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The Old Hag With the Babe

I felt young when I had my first baby. I was in my late-twenties but had always imagined I wouldn’t get started until I was in my thirties.
You see, I just had too much to do and didn’t need a baby slowing me down. Turns out, sometimes they don’t slow you down but speed you up. Regardless, as time passed and the number of babies increased, so did the number of candles on my birthday cake. Last week I blew out 38 of the damn things.
Generally I’m not bothered by aging. We all know that 40 is the new 30 and having babies a little later in life is getting more and more common. I went into this pregnancy feeling well and up for the task.
But the issue of maternal age has always been a discussion point. In days gone by, the older mother was frowned upon. My grandmother gave birth for the last time at the ripe old age of 46 and was subjected to some pretty rude comments. While in hospital delivering her last baby, a nurse scolded grandma telling her that she should be “ashamed” of herself. In addition, she had to cop the grief of some of her embarrassed teenage/adult children.
While those social stigmas may no longer apply, maternal age is still relevant. Somewhere between my fourth and fifth pregnancy, I reached the magical age of 35. Apparently from there on in, it all goes downhill for pregnant women and their fetuses.
I began being treated as though I was elderly - amnio offered around every corner and suggestions of a tubal ligation during the c-section to avoid another pregnancy at this late stage in life. It seemed odd to me since I had been pregnant with my fourth child only a few months earlier. Apparently, my 35 candles put me into a whole new statistical category intended to scare off the faint-hearted mamas.
It’s one thing not to be bothered by becoming a mother in your late thirties, but another entirely when you have to surround yourself with young mothers. For those who have followed this blog, you may recall that there have been three recent weddings my children have been involved in. Well, my three bride cousins have now either just given birth or are just about to. Did I mention that these bride cousins were born in the 1980s?
So if you happen to be at a park this summer and see three energetic new mamas looking like teenagers with their noticeably absent crows feet, those are my cousins. You’ll easily recognize me with them - I’ll be the old hag with the bags under my eyes.
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