Thursday, April 12, 2012

372 Days - The Time Post

If you’re a mother like I am then you know about “age-by-weeks” because there was a time when your baby’s age was determined that way and no one thought twice about it for the first year.

“Awww… she’s so big! How old is she?”

“Oh, she’s just past 32 weeks, thanks!”

“WOW! She’s so chubby!!”

“WOW! So are you!”


(more silence)

“Hey look, free Doritos!” (sound of footsteps running away/stroller wheels screeching/Starbucks cup being thrown)

So today, I’m bringing it back to basics. Today I’m 2,027 weeks old. For those without a calculator handy, that’s 38 years and 51 weeks. For those without a brain handy, that’s one week until my 39th birthday and the last year in my thirties. So what does this all mean, you ask? Oh, my dear friends, who am I kidding? You wouldn’t dream of asking for fear of getting an answer! How does the ‘Gen Y’ saying go? FML?? Anyway, here’s the scoop/the dilly/the deal/the answer (I tried to cover all generations there, see?): It all means, in a nutshell, or, rather, a tampon applicator (just to keep the “lady-theme” going here) that my time is running out. Not my “time” time, mind you. I hopefully have plenty of that left, but my, you know… tiiiiiiimmmme. Like, my “Tuh-ime.” Or, my “t-t-t-t-t-time.” Time for goodies and fun spots and wowsers and eeks. “Table-top” time. “Cooking naked and feeling comfortable about it and don’t let the new burn get you down” time. “Victoria’s Secret half-off-panties-buy-three-get-laid-free shopping-spree” time. SEXY TIME, DAMMIT! It’s fourth down, gang! And I’m at the 39 and 2 (age plus amount of kids) but the thing is, my quarterback is 6th string! It ain’t lookin’ good, people! My time is running out faster than Mitt Romney at a PETA convention. Or Rick Santorum in a sweater-vest-less Wal-mart location. Or Newt Gingrich at a … okay I’ll stop. Point made, I’m sure. It’s crunch time, is what I’m saying. And my goal for the next year other than writing this blog in my free time (sarcasm plus irony = blogger goodness at its best) is to not just feel sexy again, but to genuinely BE sexy again.  

If Sofia Vergara can do it at 39; if Diane Lane can do it at 47; if Julianne Moore can do it at FIFTY-PHUCKING-TWO, then G*d damn, I’m going to do it, bitches. This 2,027 week old woman is going to DO IT. Come with me! Let’s do this!

Time. It’s all about time, kids.

My time, is now.


  1. As my dear cuz rants on about time it brings to mind the following:

    I turn my back to the wind
    To catch my breath
    Before I start off again
    Driven on without a moment to spend
    To pass an evening
    With a drink and a friend.

    I let my skin get too thin
    I'd like to pause
    No matter what I pretend
    Like some pilgrim who learns to transcend
    Learns to live as if each step was the end.

    Time stand still
    I'm not looking back
    But I want to look around me now
    See more of the people
    And the places that surround me now.

    Freeze this moment
    A little bit longer
    Make each sensation
    A little bit stronger
    Experience slips away.

    I turn my face to the sun
    Close my eyes
    Let my defenses down
    All those wounds
    That I can't get unwound.

    I let my past go too fast
    No time to pause
    If I could slow it all down
    Like some captain
    Whose ship runs aground
    I can wait until the tide
    Comes around.

    Make each impression
    A little bit stronger
    Freeze this motion
    A little bit longer
    The innocence slips away.

    Summer's going fast
    Nights growing colder
    Children growing up
    Old friends growing older
    Experience slips away.

    Rush - Time Stands Still lyrics by Neil Peart

  2. You would use a Rush song, wouldn't you?