Very Miscellany: Guilt, Babies, and Makeup

Miscellaneous- consisting of a haphazard assortment of different kinds, dealing with or interested in diverse subjects....

First, the subject of Guilt. I could devote an entire series of posts to this subject, being that I grew up Baptist- which soaked me in the warm southern summer sunbath of guilt like a potent sun tea, steeping, steeping. Yum, tea.  Plus, I simultaneously assume responsibility for things beyond my control, while at the same time wash my hands of everything while muttering a crazy, breathless, Serenity Prayer.
Current Guilt: I'm an awful friend. In fact, I'm practically a foe. My pal, Mary, from MN, who is pregnant with twin girls, has called me several times within the past few weeks. I haven't called her back. Sure, I've been busy (trying to sell our house, plan our move, etc.), and I have diagnosed myself with Pollen Poisoning- which has caused me to crave nothing but sleep and clear nasal passages. But really, these are just excuses. I don't really dig the phone. I'm a 'listener', and often people take liberties with that and babble on and on and fail to breath or ask me how I'm doing. I may adore that particular person (and I'm not referring to Mary), but I don't like to devote much more of my time than necessary to someone's rambling smalltalk. That's what blogs are for! So, I'm a selfish friend. I would much rather spend some time with a pal, maybe enjoying a great dinner, taking a hike together, making toasts and listening to music, or chatting over coffee. But on the phone, I have Noah or Michael tugging at me (usually the friend on the other end of the line has a little one tugging away too), and I'm distracted. And I'm a visual person, I want to see your face, your smile, your eyebrows raised in exclamation. I'm an awful phone friend. But I will call Mary as soon as I finish this post.

Second, babies. I am still not pregnant! There is a sea of bulging bellies all around. But, nope, not mine...well, it bulges slightly, but for all the wrong reasons. By the time I get pregnant again, all the awesome baby names will be taken. Dear Danielle, from co-op and bookclub, bestowed upon her newest addition, the magnificent name of Desmond. I swoon over that name! Thanks, LOST. And Michael, with every intention to make me feel better about not being pregnant yet, says that it's pretty much all in my head, that when I stop wanting it so much, when I feel more secure (ie, after we have moved and settled in our new home turf)...then that is when I will miraculously release that destined fertile egg. He's probably very very right. He means so well, but that all translates to: Madona, you're crazy, once you stop being so crazy, you'll get pregnant.
Well, Patti has loaned me her Fertility God, which she claims worked for her. So, cross your fingers, say your prayers, send electronic fairy dust, whatever it is you do, and let's get me preggers, people!

Third, makeup. I don't know how aware you are of the Crunchy Chicken. Well, she is one extraordinary blogger, who irreverently puts the 'mental' in 'environmental'. I'm a loyal reader and Diva Cup convert (too much info, I know). Anywho...she has fantastic giveaways, and she so kindly selected lil' ol' ME as a winner of her Gabriel Cosmetics giveaway. Yep, she mailed me $50 worth of makeup. Now I am not rubbing poison into my eyes or swallowing lead from my lipstick. I'm very very grateful.
So this brings me full circle to that ever-present Gulit I mentioned earlier. I feel indebted to Crunchy now. I feel guilty that I don't deserve to be a winner! How can I ever repay the Chicken?! I hope she never becomes my friend and expects me to actually call her. On. The. Phone. I would be totally and completely paralyzed by my guilt.
 

30's are the new 20's...or f u Advanced Maternal Age!

Boy am I glad last week is OVER!
My birthdays always seem to cause an unreasonable amount of stress and I get a bit melancholy. I say the stress and depression are unreasonable because I have so many things to celebrate, to be thankful for. I have a good life. I am lucky.
But still...this nagging persists. It tells me that I have to do more, buy more, be more, write more, have more kids...The feeling is akin to a prolonged panic attack. This sudden realization that time is marching on. The realization that I can't follow every path, accomplish every goal, because one day this will all...STOP.
It's sad. What makes me the saddest is knowing that someday I will be seperated from Noah and Michael. How ridiculous am I? It's birthday time, time for jubilant bliss, streamers and cake, toasting to my Life. And my mind wanders over to visit with Death and Seperation. What a party pooper. 
So, I turned 35 on Sunday. Big deal, right? I don't feel old. I enjoy good health. I shake my butt off 3 times a week at Zumba. I eat a mostly meatless/ heavy on the veggies diet. I laugh a lot. I sleep well. I don't smoke (except for the occassional crack...but who doesn't do that?). I drink in moderation unless I happen to be around my roll girl Melissa, who brings out the PARTY in me. But she's in FL and I'm in NY, so I drink in moderation! Yep, I'm the picture of health.
But 35 suddenly means that I am classified by a term that I never heard of before this week.
No, I'm not a  "Cougar".
Suddenly I am classified in medical terms as someone who has reached:
ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE!
What???! I am trying to conceive, but my eggs are declining in quantity and quality! Miscarriages are more common! If I do become pregnant, it will be considered an 'at-risk' pregnancy...at risk of birth defects!
I put exclamation points after each of these sentences to illustrate the intensity that I was feeling all week leading up to turning 35, leading up to ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE.
My birthdays usually cause me to reflect on my mortality, but this birthday dealt a particularly hard blow with the realization that I may not be able to produce LIFE much longer.
When I spoke to my father on the phone Sunday, he was quick to tell me that the 30's are the new 20's...which would mean he's in his new 40's. But men don't have to worry in quite the same way...sperm are fresh and new everytime they are released. Women are born with all of their eggs, and the eggs age right along with you. Me and my 35 year old eggs.

To top it all off, bits and pieces of  Eliot's "Prufrock" kept entering my mind all week:
"I grow old...I grow old...I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled..."
"I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, and in short, I was afraid..."
"That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all."
The torture! The agony! The pretentiousness!
But if you know me at all, you know that I don't stay down for long. I feel better already now that 35 is here. I will find a way, somehow, to live with my ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE. Or maybe I should reject the label altogether? That's right, I DO 'dare disturb the universe.' I DO 'dare to eat a peach.'