Nobody else is flinching. They’re all breathing. In and out. In. And. Out. Eyes gently shut, all the women are centered on their mats, breathing, hands at heart center, I can’t help but think like a praying mantis. Who kill their partner after sex. via GIPHY But these women don’t seem violent at all, they’re all super chill. I know, because my eyes are wide open and I’m scanning the
The lovely ladies over at Rants from Mommyland posted recently on Useful Mom Inventions. Which is very funny because they’re in the throws of breastfeeding and diapers, drive thru and happy meals. But I, thankfully, am not. Been there, done that. Not to say I’m done momming, because the work has gotten a whole lot harder. But for Moms approaching my age, a lovely 46 with menopause staring me square
I need to work. I need to write. I’m on deadline. But I have bigger issues. Or actually, smaller, saggy, deflated ones. Bumpy, lumpy cyst filled boobs. Husband is a self-proclaimed boob man. He likes boobs, big ones. Apparently, with me, he chose the filler between the ears over the fluff inside the bra ‘cuz really, the only time I had enough boob to bounce was when I was pregnant.