Tell Mama

I give up.

I surrender.

My white flag, a pair of granny panties haphazardly attached to a lonely old mic stand, waiving high in the air.

A symbol of defeat, a symbol of sadness.

A symbol of  old identity and new identity coming together as one sad, pathetic, almost middle aged lady wondering where the hell her tube tops and the boobs that used to look so fabulous in them went.

I tried. i thought I was better than this. I thought I could run faster than the flames of time that were lapping at my reflection as I pondered my new wrinkles, the new gray hair, my droopy bosom, and the weird ugly blood vessel spots on my face.

I wanted to break the mold. I THOUGHT I COULD REMAIN HOT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! CHILDREN BE DAMMED!

But now, I just weep.

Laser treatments, hair color, facial masks, Spanx and Victoria's Secret can no longer mask what I know to be the truth.

I am a 36 year old mother.

And I wear yoga pants.

I'm too tired to go out.

The thought of going  to a loud club or bar after 10PM makes me want to hide inside my own uterus.

I want to stay in with my daughter every Friday and Saturday night.

I don't care that my husband wears t-shirts that say " Maris street block party 2002"

And I need wine. Lots and lots of wine.