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Showing posts from 2014

Is 60 the new 30? 40?

Here's a #tbt post from February of 2014. I recently saw Christie Brinkley in anew commercial and she looks the same so she is doing something right! Check out this week's edition of People Magazine and you will see an amazing picture of ubermodel Christie Brinkley on the cover, with a article about her and her life inside the mag. This woman is 60 years old and is wearing a bathing suit on the cover of a national magazine and looks like ten million bucks.  I know women in their thirties - beautiful women - who don't look as good as she does at 60. I don't want to hear from anyone about air brushing, computer pixal fixation, or anything else negative. This chick looks great!  She embodies the notion that if you live healthy, you will look and feel healthy.  She is a strong vegetarian/vegan ( something I am not, nor can I ever be) and she is devoted to exercise, taking care of her skin, and generally espousing the happiness dictum : if you feel good, look good,  take

Pursue your passions.

A while back I blogged about how being in menopause could be a time for reflection about your life, and a time where you begin to try or learn new things. Without kids at home, schedules to rule you, and anything other than your own psyche to contend with, you could make this time all about you and your dreams. No one will be mad at you for being selfish. No one. Well, I took my own advice. Shocking, isn't it? For all of my life I have had a passion for writing. Truly, a passion. I've been an avid reader since I first learned my alphabet. By the time I was nine I'd read all the children's books in my local library and had graduated to the young adult series. At that time, Nancy Drew, Trixie Beldon and the Hardy Boys were the only real series books available. Goosebumps and The Babysitter's Club hadn't been written yet. I started writing my own stories when I was in second grade, and actually won a prize in third grade for a story I did about a clown. Durin

Is it foggy out today, or is that just me?

A few days ago I was walking out to my car, keys in hand, and I suddenly forgot where I was going.  I’m standing in my garage, purse slung over my shoulder and I had no idea where it was I wanted to be. It was a Tuesday, my regular day off from work, so I knew I had to be running some kind of off-from-work-day errand, but for the life of me I didn’t know what it was. I went back into the house, took off my coat, laid down my purse on the table and then rifled through it. When I saw a grocery list and a wad of coupons, it dawned on me: I was heading out to the grocery store. Phew!   That mystery was solved. I would have laughed this incident off it was an isolated, one-off. But it wasn’t.   Since I’ve been in FBM ( Full Blown Menopause), my short term memory has taken a decided hit, like a linebacker getting tackled, and it isn’t funny, pretty or cute by any means. I distinctly remember when my mother was going through menopause. I’d tell her something in the morning, the

The Seven Dwarves of Menopause:

Online the other day I saw a cartoon with Disney’s seven dwarves, depicted as the seven dwarves of menopause: Psycho, Bitchy, Sweaty, Sleepy, Moody, Bloated, and Forgetful. Somehow I can’t quite imagine these guys walking a straight line and singing “Hi Ho Hi Ho it’s off to work we go,” can you? I have been each of these dwarves at one time or another during my FBM time ( full blown menopause). Psycho, Bitchy and Moody all go hand in hand and need no explanation, while Sleepy and Sweaty are fraternal twins.   Sweaty actually gives birth to Sleepy due to rearing its ugly head at night. Bloated can lead to Moody and Psycho, and Forgetful just hangs out by himself, making my life miserable. As I’m writing this I realize how NEGATIVE this all sounds. Really, is there one descriptor above that you can say is a POSITIVE one? I can’t.   So I’m going to dig deep and try and find some positive words I can attribute to menopause. And I mean really deep. Freedom: Okay this

Breasts: A final word

I've always been a big girl . I never wore a training bra, and could have done an ad for a Playtex living bra when I was 10. A lifetime of yo-yo dieting, and a few eating disorders later, coupled with pregnancy and breast-feeding, and there are days when I don't recognize my own breasts. I've spent a small fortune on all kinds of bras that were billed as shapers , reducers , and supporters . I was wearing underwire bras when all my peers were wearing cotton, no padding, a-little-more-than-undershirt bras. You may have gone to a bra fitting specialist for your very first training bra and believe it or not you should go for a new fitting now if you’re entering, or are in, menopause. A bra fitting specialist will help you decide the best bra for your clothing, emotional, and physical needs. Maybe you need to go up a cup size or two to be more comfortable. Or if you're lucky, down. Maybe you need a bra with a little extra padding, underwire, or one that doesn't d

Menopause+Breasts+Cancer. Know your risks

So, if we talk about our breasts, one of the topics we have to cover is breast cancer. Going through menopause in and of itself does not cause an increase in the chance of developing breast cancer. But, those risk factors that do cause it, do increase with age, and since you are entering menopause during the halfway point of your life, you might want to take time to do some research and prep work to decrease your chances of getting the disease, or even to find out if you are at risk for it. Having risk factors does not necessarily mean a woman will get cancer, but the opposite can be proven true as well: if you have no risk factors that doesn’t mean you are going to get a free pass, so be educated and know your breasts. My research has all shown me that single biggest risk to getting breast cancer is age. The older you get, the more your chances increase.  Personal risk elevates if someone in your family had or has the disease such as a mom, sister or aunt.

Me, myself, and my breasts.

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My relationship with my breasts has always been a complicated one. There are times I absolutely love them. When they look good in clothes, when they’re high and firm, when my cleavage is tasteful but still sexy. Those are the times my breasts and I are friends, a happy little menage a trois that gets me through the day. But there are other times when I wish I could be as flat-chested as a ham sandwich, if a ham sandwich could be flat-chested: during puberty when my period was still trying to find the right timeline to come and go; during pregnancy when they grew to twice the normal size and I had to buy a specialty bra just so my back wouldn't break; to postpartum when they were so swollen and engorged I wanted to stick a pin in them so they would burst and relieve the pressure. Honestly, I could have breast fed a small, hungry army instead of just one little red haired baby girl. You'll notice that most of the "problems" I've experienced have been during