Lately, as I totter on the brink of impending cronedom, on the ragged edge of middle age, I find myself pondering all of the little surprises of life. The little things that they just dont tell you in woman school! (As if the things that they do tell you werent bad enough!) In grade school they tell you about periods which will happen every month or so, sometimes accompanied by debilitating cramps, swollen and sore breasts, water retention and the dread P.M.S. You can hear all about morning sickness, stretch marks and cellulite. There are numerous publications on hot flashes, night sweats and other horrors. But the things they dont tell you! Why arent our young ladies educated about the horrors of 36 hours of labor? I think it should be described in vivid detail! That would cut the teen pregnancy rate for sure! No one ever told me what would happen if that baby I planned for, dreamed of and carried with some days of extreme discomfort for 9 months should be stubborn or be stuck in some way and an emergency C-Section should have to be preformed. They dont tell you that when they cut you from navel to pelvic bone that you will be left with a butt shaped pouch of flesh that no amount of diet or exercise will fix completely. There are no advertisements that show the effects of breast-feeding on your once proud rack. After two or three kids those high and tight globes will head for the ground at an alarming rate! Then there are the fine lines caused by smiling, laughing, breathing.. which will bring along their whole families with cousins and all to congregate on your face one at a time. I never heard that pulling one gray hair would stimulate the growth of five more. Did anyone ever tell me that suddenly I would start to sprout bristly hairs in the strangest places, like my jaw line? NO! No movie in health class showed me that sometimes, no matter how well or often you Keogle, a bout of coughing or a really good sneeze can leave you sitting in a puddle that would rival that of an 8 month old infant. I know my mother never told me that when you have more than one child, sometimes their names and identities would escape you, not to mention birth dates, ages, allergies and occasionally why you had them in the first place. After thirty-five your own body begins to betray you. Periods which once occurred like clockwork begin to happen whenever you plan a trip or wear light colored clothes. The rest of your parts begin to succumb to the tug of gravity, parts you never knew you had will suddenly begin to hurt for no apparent reason. About the time your partners sex drive begins to cool, yours goes through the roof! This is often followed by detailed fantasies about the little 20 something that flirted with you at the gas station. Your mind begins to wander.. right, so where were we? I say we get it together and demand education for our hapless daughters who are headed down the same road in sublime ignorance. Strike that! All women except the genetically gifted. Those women should be hunted down and exterminated or bred solely for genetic testing. The Oleda Bakers of the world should get some camouflage of some sort, perhaps have some smile lines surgically implanted because there are way more of US than there are of them.

oh geeze... something is horribly awry with my puter... this used to be double spaced between the paragraphs. I appologize.

As a well established member in the community of crones, I identify with much of what you write (except I skipped childbearing). Unfortunately the body looks the same despite that absence of effort due to gravity, indulgence, indifference to exercise, and a lack of money for tightening surgery. That mind wandering thing is so true....my distraction level grows with each birthday. Loved your essay. :)

Gravity sucks doesn't it? And yet another cliche' ever stop to think and forget to start again?

Someone said (Dave Barry?) that dogs come into a room as if they never saw it before. I feel that way sometimes. But the gift I gave myself when I turned 50 was that I stopped lying. Stopped lying about my age. Stopped lying about my weight. Stopped lying about my romantic potential (which is zero). Stopped doing things that made me feel like I was being false to myself. It was a great gift. It makes me uncomfortable to be around. I know that. But I also know I have to face the truth in order to deal with whatever is left of my life. And, you know, the nice thing about being a crone is that you don't care so much about what other people think. I spent too much of my life trying to be what other people thought I should be....this time is mine. And, you know, it's kind of fun.

I knew I was getting older when I had to teach my son to shave. One thing that has always puzzled me though, is where is the Crone Shop? I see all these tiny little old ladies (and old men for that matter) walking around wearing clothes I just don't know where to buy. Well, I'm not 35 yet (next year) & I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but you certainly made me laugh. Perhaps this knowledge is what makes old ladies smile & shake their heads so often. They know what's coming to us! I also find, the older I get, the older my definition of old becomes. As a child I thought teenagers were old, as a teenager I thought anyone over 20 was too old to notice, now I'm considering when you get past 60 you are probably pretty old. Shanna :-) feeling her age, just not acting it.

There is one lady who rides the bus in the morning. She has a most dazzling array of clothing. None of it matches in pattern but she has a decided preference for brilliant colors that are layered on top of each other with Kaleidoscopic results. I rather admire her ambition to try to fit as much of her closet on her small body as she possibly can in one outing (she's not a street person...it's not out of necessity). I don't how to advise you on where to get crone clothes...because we have lived a long time and often don't have much money, we keep recycling our clothes through the years and, because our eyesight is bad, we don't notice that the colors don't quite match (or we don't care) or that the patterns clash (or we don't care) or that the edges are threadbare (or we don't care). Because we feel safely no one is looking, we dress for comfort and to our own whim. I don't mind the fact I know men my own age consider me too old to waste time on. I find it fascinating that it is often easier to talk to a young man in his twenties than a male who should be my contemporary....it gives me great hope for the future that behind the odd baggy clothes and scruffy chins, there are some delightful young men to be found who have decent manners and an unexpected kindness. The young women are too busy with their lives to waste time on me...but, I understand the truth of it: they don't want to look in my face and see their future.

Hmmm ... none of the guys are showing up for this one. Wonder why? ;-)

Not something they have to cope with.

Through a variety of circumstance and fortune, I now find myself looking at a once more swollen body (and with a sense of finality in it that comforts me greatly!) and trying yet again all the little things we've always done to keep it together.

This despite the fact that I've always been very mindful of my looks. But, now, I find thatI don't really give a dman anymore. Sometime during the last year I stpped trying to really get my face right and figured if I was doing it in the car, I was doing it wrong anyway.

Somewhere along the way I realized that I was never going to get rid of my pouch short of a girdle.

But I did realize that gravity only hits me when I'm tired, and I don't get as tired as I once did. Maybe it's the exercising I started like a demon after my last one, which I'm missing a lot as I balloon out in bed trying not to think about the pair I'm handling this time (For the few that count, yes, this will make , um, seven or eight -- don't 'member and none of the others are still long enough for me to count) in between sneaking to the computer when my designated watchdog wanders or sleeps.

I'll not go gently into that old womanhood. I've got a family of wrinkles that I'll wear proudly, and stretchies are the price I pay for being way, way way too into the mommy thing.

I've always heard life begins at 40. Well, then about the time I get these outta diapers, I'll be starting mine. And heaven beware if anyone decides I'm too old for something other than me -- I've got skydiving lessons reserved for November.

As for the Old Crone Store, why, The reason I'm replying is a trip into my closet, which holds things I admit only in it's confines that I'm sure will find their way out again when I hit my 70's, and that's the secret itself -- those stores are our closets. The last time I bought a new dress was two years ago, and I had to make half my latest stuff (have you seen the ghastly stuff that's affordable for maternity now? It was better eight years ago!).

babbling, Sorry. Hear hear!

You know I've tried to read this thread several times...but I can't find my glasses. I know there around somewhere. I have three pairs but..Oh here they are rught in front of me. "It's ok hon. I'll just use yours. They're the same anyways" Now "A Feminist Article" the music from MTV is blasting in the back ground. My 10-yr old has to blast it. My six-year old and 3-year old start jumping up and down in gleeful play as each my eyes bounce up and down trying to read the words. "Would you keep it down! I can't even think with all this noise." I return to read the article for the third time half way through the phone ring..someone asking for my 21 year old. He's never home and never says where he's going to be. Why should he be upset when I don't tell him who called when they never tell me they just hang up. I just want to read this article I'm sure its important.Now what article was it I was trying to read?

As we see from tjames' reply men have their own demons to battle. As for me I am forty in June.. which is absolutely amazing as my mommy always told me I would never make thirty. :D I have so thoroughly enjoyed all the feedback... You ladies, and gentleman are amazing in your own right. You gotta laugh cuz otherwise you will just go crazy trying to catch things as they fall.

Why aren't there many men on this thread? Because I've learned [sometimes painfully] that men joining a discussion on almost any aspect of 'the female condition' tread into a minefield - we risk condemnation if we agree ["how do you know!"] or if we don't ["you don't even care!"]

A little story: until my mid-thirties I played Rugby [for USA readers that's a game like American Football without the 'cissy' armour] Injuries are very common, and I regularly dislocated my knee-cap. Notwithstanding the pain I would equally regularly take myself to the sidelines and manually push the kneecap back into place - an excruciatingly painful process. On one occasion a [rather attractive] young girl and her mother were at the side of the playing field whilst I was in the middle of this exercise. The girl was all sympathy and admiration for my fortitude, but mother was not. "Hmmph ... he'd never be able to stand the agony of having a baby - then he'd know what pain would be like!"

It didn't seem to occur to her that I hadn't chosen to be born without ovaries or uterus - so why blame me? Certainly I appreciate how painful the birth process looks, and I certainly did not envy my wife at the time[s] in any way. I'm also fully aware of the havoc caused by hormonal shifts, by the devastation of the menopause etc., etc. - I've been on the receiving end many a time. I admire without reservation the strength and resolve of women who have suffer such biological misfortunes ... and I'm duly thankful that I do not.

There is, however, a downside to my good luck.
[1] biologically, it takes me hours to recover before 'seconds' are on the menu.
[2] I can fake neither desire nor fulfillment - even for the nicest possible reasons!
[3] If I'm cranky / impatient / moody / unresponsive it's because I'm cranky / impatient / moody / unresponsive ... and I can't balame it on anything else!
[4] If I put on extra weight it's because I've eaten too much and exercised too little - whatever my age.
[5] I can't use hair colour to cover the grey without criticism ... indeed I can't use any kind of make-up to improve or cover up blemishes.

And just to complete the record, in the loving stakes I can still keep up my end of bargain - and I'm nearly 62.

And I still love women to bits!!

Thanks Meico, and nah, you aren't gonna get slammed, at least not by me.

After a certain time and age silence is golden.

What exact age would that be?

That's a secret shared by men who know enough not to tell.

... and at my age you speak your mind and suffer the consequences with little fear and a bucketful of good humour.

Oh I've been there too, but let's just say you know the way the conversation is going when to go out for a walk and when to be the butt. Let's just say painting a big red "X" on oneself is not always smart, especially when the odds are 7:1 or greater:The situation I usually find myself in.

maybe it's just a reaction to the feminism of the 60's..where we were pointedly told to go away when feminism was discussed. We were the problem, so there was no need to discuss it. I suppose some habits die hard..
Don't feel bad, I'm closer to 50 than 40, and things are happening. I've got what I call 'locational memory'..where you go out of a room with a thought, and you leave, but it doesn't, and you have to go back into the room to remember what it was..;) Other things just don't work the way they used to...'nuff said. And the reason for the chin hair on women, etc., is that by the 40's, a woman's level of testosterone (yes, it's there) starts to rise.. and this leads to hair, uh..a desire for more of something..'nuff said again..;)I have found that older women are more sympathetic (well, maybe just more patient..;), more sure of themselves, and more fun to be around..but that's just me..;)
I'm a prime candidate for 'old clothes syndrome', since I find it hard to wear something 'hip' without laughing in the mirror. There are those men who just say 'to heck with it', and just grow old semi-gracefully. It's the other folks with comb-overs, toques, (tukes? whatever..;), the 'middle age crisis', etc., that have the hard time. I know women aren't fooled by it. Being St. Paddy's day, I have on 30-year-old Kelly Green socks (not throwing out clothes is a 'guy' thing too..;) which is about as close to geezer as I intend to get this week..;)

But the funny thing is when people talk about how smart your kids are, and they automatically assume its the mothers doing...even when she's always gone and you're the one spending the time. "Mrs. Johnson you're kids are so smart and so well behaved. However did you do it?" And let's not forget if anyone sees you discipling your children A cross word makes you the evil child-beating monster we're all supposed to be. Heaven help the man who's daughter is a figure skater learning how to jump...my daughter hasn't got to that point yet, but when I see those girls hitting the boards like hockey players without pads.. I fear those bruises. I fear every busy body in the world with an axe to grind who thinks they're doing my family a favor by reporting me for child abuse. When they have must arrest laws here on those kinds of calls. Yes I fear that. My two older sons have a much stronger opinion that would never get past the TOS.

OH my, don't even get me started on the Nanny State stuff. My fiance went to jail for eleven days for swattin one of my brat girls on the bottom... you dont even have to leave a mark. Just ... see now I told ya don't get me started... I believe that the closer we get to running out of time, the greater our capacity to take it. Is it patience or are we simply tired of running now? I also believe that the older we get, the less we really care what others think of us. Or at least those of us who are lucky do. Some seem to run after that illusion of youth like it was the holy grail. Why? To be an old person in a perfect body? Personally, I love the face of a person who has lived their life. You can read the road map of a life by the lines on the face. You can tell who laughed more than cried throughout life. I would much rather look at the honest face of a person who is who they are than one who has spent thousands to be "perfect". There is nothing more beautiful than the body of a person who has worked all their lives in honest labor. Who has aches and pains and bulges in all the 'wrong' places. This is a person who has lived. I so far prefer the Venus of Willendorf to the Venus on the half shell. Growing older does not frighten me, it's growing up I am allergic to :D

One of my son's for some strange reason has the habit of biting his hand when angry. Some "doo-gooder" at school reported that the blisters on his hand were cigarette burns...The only problem is neither I nor my wife smoke. Sure enough child welfare was out here on the complaint. They bipassed my wife and immediately start running a gestapo-type do on me. Yes this is in America. I had another son who did the sliding down the pole on the slide bit...upside down. Didn't think about the cement anchors at the bottom of the pole. He cut his nose pretty good. Lucky he didn't break it. The gestapo was out again the second time and there were even other kids saying what my son did. But they give you that look. You're guilty! It doesn't matter what the facts are. I suppose I could follow him around making sure that stuff didn't happen, but then there's the neighbor who insists I'm stalking kids when I do.

ABC's OF AGING A is for arthritis B is for bad back C is for the chest pains. Corned beef? Cardiac? D is for dental decay and decline E is for eyesight--can't read that top line F is for fissures and fluid retention G is for gas (which I'd rather not mention and not to forget other gastrointestinal glitches) H is high blood pressure I is for itches, and lots of incisions J is for joints, that now fail to flex L is for libido--what happened to sex? Wait! I forgot about K! K is for my knees that crack all the time (But forgive me, I get a few lapses in my M-memory from time to time) N is for nerve (pinched) and neck (stiff) and neurosis O is for osteo-for all the bones that crack P is for prescriptions, that cost a small fortune Q is for queasiness. Fatal or just the flu? Give me another pill and I'll be good as new! R is for reflux--one meal turns into two S is for sleepless nights, counting my fears on how to pay my increasing medical bills! T is for tinnitus--I hear bells in my ears and the word "terminal" also rings too near U is for urinary and the difficulties that flow (or not) V is for vertigo, as life spins by W is worry, for pains yet found X is for X ray--and what one might find Y is for year (another one I'm still alive) Z is for zest for surviving the symptoms my body's deployed, And keeping twenty-six doctors gainfully employed By that well known author Anonymous