My remaining ovary has gone rogue.

Oh… how sad it is. I hang my head in grief and humiliation.

Seriously, I am not THAT old, but things are happening, the very things that I never imagined would apply to me.

Not such a big deal, now that I am here… I still feel valuable and valued and I am managing to swallow the lump in my throat… you know, that lump of realization that youth and outward beauty has decreased... Yeah, THAT lump. Regardless, I am handling this all better than I thought I would.

Do not get me wrong, it is not altogether pleasant, by any means.

So here I sit with this aging body. I know that I must approach certain things differently than I once used to. For example, stooping and/or deep bending at the knees. Shockingly, as of lately, I notice that once I am down, I cannot get back up in reverse; my knees have lost their torque. I find myself, embarrassingly, scrambling in such a way that only a chubby, middle-aged woman would do, to regain full height. Granted, I am certain that I could remedy this problem with simple weight loss and strength training, but… I will procrastinate until after I finish my nursing program. That is my new thing and my list is growing.

Anyway.

Another horror that I have stumbled upon are dark vinyl, pattern-less, sitting chairs. Do you have any idea what this means? It means that upon standing up from chairs such as this, I must check for butt and poot splotch. YEAH. I WENT THERE. My rogue-ass ovary has initiated overheating in my derriere and down-under region and I am pissed about it… Now I must constantly avoid certain sitting arrangements and if I cannot avoid sitting, then I must strategically raise with a butt-sliding motion to wipe the evidence of splotchy, female aging from the seat.

My rogue-ass ovary has initiated overheating in my derriere and down-under region and I am pissed about it…

MORTIFYING, MORTIFYING, MORTIFYING, especially when I forget the maneuver upon rising, OR if the maneuver fails altogether. I mean, how gross is it to see somebody’s butt and poot splotch?!? Who wants to sit there after THAT? *Sigh* And this whole mortification is based on my own witness account… Lemme tell you about it.

One day, long ago, when I was young and rarely humiliated by my youthful body (only by the occasional stomach growl or noisy escape of gas), I was working on a birthing unit as a floor clerk. The nurse’s station was set up galley style, with desks running up and down each side, connected by doctor’s dictation stations at one end, and central, fetal monitoring on the other. The clerk’s station was set up opposite the charge nurse’s desk and often the clerk and charge would push back on their roll-y, dark vinyl covered chairs and bump one another, back to back. Not a big deal, it was a normal occurrence. Well, on this one particular early morning, the floor was hoppin’ and babies were coming out of their mother’s left and right and the charge nurse had to take a patient until the day nurses arrived.

Bless her heart, this charge nurse, the woman of whom I sat back to back to and was in awe of her strength, knowledge, wisdom, and beauty… she was busy running to and fro, up and down from that awful, dark vinyl-covered chair. At one point, she hopped up to assist a patient and her chair slid next to where I was sitting, and that’s when I saw it: Butt and poot splotch. Honestly, I was so busy myself, I did not think anything of it until I heard the nurses to my left twittering and snickering and pointing at the chair. I made eye contact with the twitterers and snickerers and delivered to them an exaggerated cringe while I pushed the chair back to the charge’s station. I went back to my phone call, but I caught random snippets of their conversation and witnessed those nurses sharing the event with other nurses, all of whom acted cringe-y, just as I had. But most sadly? I never looked at the charge nurse the same, ever again. After bearing witness to her butt and poot splotch, I decided that she was the grossest woman EVER. *shakes head*

Pffft. Until now, of course. And DAMN how life comes back full circle and rubs our noses in all that we have once mocked!

And DAMN how life comes back full circle and rubs our noses in all that we have once mocked!

This new phenomenon has nearly destroyed me because I have always been a body perfectionist, especially in regard to cleanliness and female freshness. Like, I religiously wipe front to back, wash the poot daily with mild soap and rinse with a detachable shower head. A detachable shower head is mandatory for proper hygiene practices, I mean, how can a poot get clean and rinsed from a damn stationary shower head? That’s yeast, UTI, and bacterial vaginosis inbound STAT, like, right about the corner.… The oven must be carefully maintained and wrapped only in breathable cotton, not any of that nylon and silk (not even cotton lined!) sexy shit that men think is so great. No way, only the most natural for poot because stinky and itchy is NOT ACCEPTABLE. No excuses! That is how a female must roll. We must roll with clean and fresh butts and poots, always.

But. BUT. All the hygiene in the world will not stop that damn ovary from humiliating me with butt and poot splotch.

*Tears* here, peeps, mortified, shocked, embarrassed *tears*

And how many times has a young mind and body bared witness to my splotch? What must they think of me? What should I do about this, other than ingest herbals to combat overheating?

I feel like I should wear a sign (not really, C'mon, peeps), a sign that calls it out, like, “Hey! Please don’t acknowledge my splotch with disgust and disdain for what you think I MUST be, but instead, acknowledge the splotch for what it is and feel sorry for me. ‘Cause I’m not nasty or dirty… I’m just overheating, and my last ovary is serving endless Karma on a platter!” I like the idea of such directness, but, of course, it’s not so realistic...

I could always sit on a towel, I have seen that done many times by other splotch-suffering women. Or. Maybe they’re protecting themselves from the filth of the seat because they’ve spotted my splotch at some point?!?

I don’t even know what to do!

Perhaps I could start a movement or support group or something. Yes, because the youth with un-embarrassing bodies need to understand that… ultimately, us oldies are mortified, betrayed, embarrassed, and apologetic for the behavior of our bodies.

Please don’t disvalue us, because one day, if you’re lucky, you will BE us…

 

Googs ♥︎

Oh, my Googs ♥︎

There is this little human, this incredible little human being, who has my heart.

There's this thing, or rather, there's this time in life when one has the honor of becoming a grandparent.

Oh yeah, blah, blah, how cliche is that?!? But really, I understand that aging is not to poo'd-poo'd and that in the past I have only done so because I wasn't there yet, in life, OR in mental capacity. Sadly.

I feel that as a youth, I was shallow. I based life and the value of life on physical objectives, like beauty and smooth skin and build and grace and scent and dear gawds, even teeth (I've always been funny about teeth). As a youth, I was disconnected from the aspect of aging, like, it was so far in the future that I could not fathom it.

My mother was aging and I did not consider her particularly beautiful because of that, same with both of my grandmothers. My grandfathers were more formidable; age did not seemingly deteriorate their worth and presence of strength, in the eyes of the youthful me.

Wow... that REEKS of social sexism! So often society views woman as man-objects with their worth being based on their perceived and subjective beauty. When that's gone (beauty and sexiness), a woman is less valuable... sadly, her mind is still intact, but why does that matter? Oh boy. I could rant about this for hours, but I will not... not here in my post about precious Googs ♥︎.

How very narcissistic humans are, really, by nature... how collectively UN-insightful humans are as well.

Anyway, so, if you haven't noticed by now, I go on, quite often, about aging, and I have no problems voicing my insecurities about that occurrence. Sometimes I feel that in acknowledging what we fear, and voicing that fear (whether it be out loud or to an empty room, or to the random cat or dog on the bed, or to the hubby that is clearly experiencing his own battle with aging, or to the reflection in the mirror), we gain power and dignity to face it... to face that thorn-in-the-side, nagging, unspeakable, debilitating, desperate fear OF AGING.

So then I became a grandma.

After having three children of my own, I have not been able to fathom having more heart to give, or adoring other little humans as much as I do them.  But I DO have more heart to give and I AM capable of adoring other little humans, just as much, in this surreal, strange, magical, powerful and TOTALLY relaxed manner! Like, I LITERALLY have all the answers now... to child rearing and most of those answers have the same common denominator:

Savor, appreciate, and SERIOUSLY don't fret the tiny things!

For example, as a young mother, I was uptight about my children eating, especially my oldest. He was finicky and I was worried that he'd starve, right before my very eyes! When I introduced him to spoon feeding, he did not want anything to do with it; he liked ba and cereal ba. Oh my, I was so stressed out about this! I would sit down daily and try and try and try to get him to eat the nummy deliciousness of Gerber from a tiny, rubber-coated spoon, but NOPE. He would cry. And when he'd open his mouth to cry more, I'd slip the spoon in his mouth! What kind of idiot was I? Seriously, first, he could have aspirated, and second, how did I think that slipping food in his mouth while crying would make him want to be spoon fed at all? Ohdeargawds what a moron I was.

Now, of course, I know better. I know that those precious little ones will eat when they are hungry and they certainly won't starve before my very eyes...

Oh, my Googs ♥︎

That sweet, little baby eats just fine. Her momma blends up those little carrots and avocados and zucchini and potatoes (in the Baby Bullet! which is totally unnecessary but ridiculously adorable, what with its little smiling blender faces and what-not, making everything that the Googs ♥︎ momma does that much more adorable), portioning them adorably in freezer-safe containers getting them ready for the Googs ♥︎ belly.

Sometimes Googs ♥︎ will growl while she's eating. We haven't figured out yet exactly why. Possibly because she's hungry and therefore eats the potatoes or carrots but really she would prefer the peaches? Or bananas? In any case, it's silly funny. Googs ♥︎ is so full of personality, but really, what little human isn't?

When she was brand new, she developed her trademark cry, and actually, it was more bitching than crying. She would throat-whine, and make a face and the sounds she made came out sounding like, "Goog." Yes, so now she's Googs ♥︎.

I am crazy in love with her and just thinking of her pulls at my heartstrings. She's precious and her little, chubby skin is so soft, and her little hazel eyes are so inquisitive, and her fat little toes are attached to the chubbiest, cutest feet! Her little fingers (that so resemble her mamma's!) are precise and dimpled and are purposely reaching for everything, while she "googs" and "dah-dahs" and shrieks in delight about all the simple things in this big, big world!

She sucks on her bottom lip and I imagine that by now she is getting familiarized with the feeling of the one, perfect little tooth that is busting through her little gums. Sometimes she'll smile around the lower lip sucking, and sometimes she'll just stare at whomever... like they've lost their mind.

She's Googs ♥︎ and she's perfect.

Until her, I rolled my eyes when grandmas would speak of their little grand-babies, how useless and pointless, I would think, to be a grandmother. After all, being a grandmother means you've gotten old, lost your human importance, and cease to matter to the rest of society. That may be true in the eyes of many youths, but I am working on not caring about that anymore because I matter to Googs ♥︎.

Rock on, Grandmas of the world! Rock on! It's an honor to grow old and achy and wrinkly and chubbier and crankier and itchier and watch your loved ones love their loved ones... ♥︎

I feel as though it's an honor to have reached the point in life where I can pass my wisdom on to my baby-girl, as she raises HER baby-girl. I hope that in sharing what I've learned with her, she will be more able to relax and enjoy and not FRET!

I ♥︎ Googs.