“42. Answer to the Ultimate Questions of Life, the Universe and Everything.”

I am about to celebrate another birthday. Yeah, go me! It’s amazing, I’m turning 42, but feel like I’m in my early thirties. The kids remind me every day that I am not, in fact, in my thirties.

I was pushing 150 pounds at the end of last year and about to move to  a size 12. There was a little crying involved and I thought, hey, I’m a mom, I’m in my forties, that’s just what happens. But the thing is, I felt old and tired. I’d tried several diets to drop a little weight without success. Atkins had worked for me back when I was 28, but messed with my system, because, hey when you are supposed to eat low carb it doesn’t get much better than cheeseburgers, right?

Well, I decided to go for it again January 1st, 2013. This time, with wisdom gained from 13 more years on this planet, I followed the instructions of the “lifestyle change”. Doesn’t mean I didn’t eat my share of cheeseburgers, but I did throw in a few salads this time. Dr. D  and Dr. S were impressed. Did I mention that my doctors rock? They so do!

I cried the first day, cause, you know, we still had cookies left from Christmas, but I stuck to my guns and lost a few pounds the first week. I’m not going to tell you the next few months were easy. Between gas and the shock to your body of significantly cutting the carbs you’ve eaten your entire life, it almost made me quit. But I didn’t. After my body got used to this new way of eating, the grumbles got a little quieter. The gas, unfortunately, stuck around, but what are you going to do? It’s a small price to pay, except at the movie theater.

9 months later and I’ve gone down from a size 10+ to a size 4. I know, I know, you should be happy with your body now matter what you weigh. Here’s the thing though, I feel younger. I’m lighter on my feet, my ankles no longer swell up and I don’t have aches in my knees anymore. It’s a bitch sometimes not eating pasta like I used too. I am possibly, maybe Italian according to the cardiologist {yeah, the red hair is a dead giveaway}.

Subject change, keep up.

I also don’t get pushed around as much as I used to.

I find myself holding firm with people and not taking any of their bullshit. Some people call it being a bitch. I call it growing a backbone. I’ve always been a carpet when it comes to other people. Life’s too short and my stress level was getting out of hand. My poor husband gets most of it, but then again he can dish it out as well as the next person. He married a sweetheart and now lives with a shrew sweetheart with a backbone. He’ll live, I take very good care of him.

My tastes seem to have changed too in the last few years. Both my husband and I pick out celebrities that would make “the list”. You know, that make believe list that you both have of the people you would sleep with if you had a chance and it would be perfectly ok with your spouse, because it’s a celebrity?

And it’s never going to happen.

My husband has his own list. More redheads on it than a few years ago. Hmm.

Yeah, I’ve rearranged my list and the results surprised me a little. Instead of George Clooney or Brad Pitt I now gravitate towards the following hotties:

Stanley Tucci-This is a new one. I just want to rub his head.

Mark Strong- I see a trend in bald. The husband will be happy.

Jeremy Northam-the best Mr. Knightly EVER.

Gary Senise- Multi-faceted and sexy as hell.

Harrison Ford- Han Solo. Nuff said.

Robert Downy Jr.- wit and the best comeback.

Gary Oldman-Just…hot.

Gerard Butler-I like a good brooder.

Aging has it’s aggravations, but the fact that I’m starting to feel good in my own skin makes up for all the new wrinkles and white hairs I find sticking straight out of my head and, funnily enough, my eyebrows. I’ll take the trade-offs.


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