Further Evidence That I Am Middle-Aged November 14, 2007

A couple of weeks ago, I had my first mammogram. Egad, am I that old already? Apparently. Since the baby was born when I was 34, the doctor said that put me in a higher risk category for breast cancer, and she would recommend a mammogram just to get a baseline. Oh, alright. Christ.

For the record, if you’ve never had a mammogram, they are totally not as uncomfortable as you’ve been told. Did it make me squirrelly to remove my shirt and brassiere for a stranger? Yes. Would a couple of martinis helped? You bet. After giving birth, all discomfort is relative, and if I get to keep my pants on, do what you have to do, doc, and get out.

The mammogram isn’t the sole piece of evidence that I am middle-aged. My rabid enthrallment (is that even a word?) with the holiday issue of Better Homes and Gardens in the waiting room is the true damning tidbit. Talk about a mommy mag. A few days later, I went so far as to BUY that issue while in line at the grocery store. And I can’t wait to make some of the recipes for Christmas dinner.

Clichés exist for a reason. Because they’re true.

The Minivan Cometh November 14, 2007

Yesterday, some great news arrived: my technical writing contract has been extended for another 3 months. Yeehaw! The company I’m working for will only commit to 3 months at a time, so this is as good as it gets. Fine with me, y’all. The money coming in for those 13 weeks should allow us to buy a used minivan with cold, hard cash. I never, ever thought I would say this, but I’m rather looking forward to having a vehicle with more space. Currently, I drive a Subaru Forester (oh, how I adore that car), and the hubby drives a Jeep Wrangler. The Jeep is fun for a-courtin’ but not so user-friendly when it comes to pregnancy or babies. He will unload the Jeep so we can get the minivan…which was all his idea. I have resisted this whole minivan concept since he first brought it up. Every fiber of my being rails against becoming a middle-aged housewife who lives in the suburbs and drives the most mommy-licious car ever. Alas, I fall into every single one of those categories. Shit. Like I told the hubby this weekend, I just want to be a yuppie with awesome shoes. Can’t you live in a nice area and still be a rockin’ chick at heart? I think so.

Maybe if we have skulls painted down the side, the van won’t be so bad…