More Than 50 Shades of Gray

When I make it to church on Sunday mornings, my G-girl is usually the first to jump aboard my lap. Not only is she faster than her baby brothers, she's also more possessive. Which means if they happen to get to me first, she is absolutely not above pushing them off of my lap.

I'm crazy about this tiny force of nature. She has a unique way of tugging on my heartstrings while simultaneously putting me in my place, unlike any other who has come before. Even as she leans in for Butterfly Kisses, she's poking at my fat roll with playful giggles.

Then, because she is made of equal parts sugar and spice, she will sit back and look deep into my eyes, assuring herself that my feelings have not been hurt, that I am laughing with her. Of course I am laughing. I know her heart completely. So much of she is me.

Confident that she has not yet gone too far, she then inevitably goes too far. She reaches up and swipes her fingers across my cheek. Hard. Hard enough to steal the youthful, glowing makeup right off my face.

Still giggling, she brushes her fingers across her own cheeks and unfailingly asks, “Am I shiny?”

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For some reason, the fact that the shiny comes off my face so easily is much more unsettling than having fat rolls large enough to accommodate the fingers of a precocious 6-year old.

How did I get to this strange place...old enough to have lost my 'shiny' but too young to be truly wise?

With a 30-something brain inhabiting a 55-year old body...how can middle-age be anything but confusing and unsettling?

My friends are not only becoming grandparents, they are taking blood pressure meds and having surgeries to replace worn out body parts. When we spend time together, our conversations unfailingly erode to bowel movements and leaky bladders.

Sheesh.

Gone is the boundless optimism of my 20's, the abundant opportunity of my 30's, the endless confidence of my 40's. I'm not sure where it all went, but it has somehow been replaced with gray hair, an extra 35 pounds and myopic eyesight.

Even as a society, we celebrate beginnings and immortalize endings. But the middle? Meh.

Exhibit A: The Oreo

(Although sweet and tasty, let's be honest.  The middle is the messiest and most fattening part of the cookie.)

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Middle age means remembering to suck in my chin when taking pictures. 

Midde age means I am just One Weak Kegel away from wearing Depends.

Middle age means my body has a mind of it's own and my mind doesn't mind at all.

And yet...

My friends and I have not spent the past fifty plus years consuming oxygen for nothing.  We. Are. Boomers.

We came into this world with a BANG! With a SPLASH! With a BOOM!!

Give us a few days with some ibuprofen and an ice pack and by golly, we'll spend the rest of our lives going out exactly the same way we came in. Except, well...slower.  Maybe not so much of a boom. And much more careful...less banging. 

But still... 

 SPLASH.