10 after 30

THE TEN MOST ANNOYING THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO MY BODY AFTER HAVING A KID AND/OR TURNING 30

1.       Liquid Boobs

Before 30: At the pinnacle of my youth, my boobs were my best feature. They were firm. They were proud. They were big, but not too big. They were round, but not too round. They retained their shape while still maintaining a seductive jiggle, like two expertly-prepared Jello molds.

After 30: Pregnancy. Childbirth. Breastfeeding. Beautiful life moments? Of course. Hormonal nightmares that kicked off my bosom’s slow transformation from wondrous boobage to a pair of soft-boiled eggs? Also yes.

Putting on a bra used to be a literal snap. Now it’s a whole PROCESS of lifting, dropping, adjusting, pouring and repouring. There’s also a fair amount of contorting my arms behind my back while struggling to do up half a dozen tiny hooks, all before settling my inch-wide bra straps into two very angry red shoulder ruts.

2.       Chinese Phone Book Syndrome

Before 30:  I’m maybe not the best example of this phenomenon as I’ve always had some measure of double chin, but before 30 I could at least disguise it with heavy contouring, artful photography, and, depending on the season, turtlenecks.

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Me in the mid-2000’s, using the “up, out, and down” chin-tuck technology popular with those who need to conceal a modest double chin in photographs.

After 30: There is NO disguising my double chin now. Not with even the most over-exposed downward-angle cam-whore photography there is. I’ve gotten older. I’ve gotten heavier. I also suspect that at some point Chin #1 and Chin #2 got drunk and hooked up, because a bouncing baby Chin #3 has appeared.

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Yowza. And before any of you go “OH COME ON IT’S NOT THAT BAD” please be aware that is the ABSOLUTE BEST picture of my chin that I could find from the last year.

3.       “Mom Mouth”

Before 30:  In order to demonstrate the “Mom Mouth” phenomenon, I had to find a ten-year-old picture of my face in “resting” position (read: not smiling, not laughing, not posing for the camera.) Consider the below photograph the best I could do. You will notice that “Mom Mouth” has not set in, largely because I wasn’t a Mom yet.

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I know my mouth looks weird, but it’s because I was employing another popular “chin camouflage” technique: the Straight-Up-Put-Something-In-Front-of-It Technique.

After 30: AAGGGHHHHHHHH!

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Double Chin Disguise Trick #3: Crop your double chin out of all your photographs. Voila!

Believe it or don’t, this is my face in “resting” position now. Note if you wish the deep laugh lines above the lips, but those are simply due to age. “Mom Mouth,” however, is the more disturbing phenomenon in which the corners of a mother’s mouth start to turn irrevocably downward, mainly from being forced to act like a complete crabass 24 hours a day.

4.       Let’s Hear It For the Beard

Before 30: As a brunette of heavily Eastern European stock, I have never been what one would call “smooth.” (You can read about the woes of my hirsutism in more detail here if you’re so inclined.) Still, before I turned 30, I maybe had a chin hair once every three to six months. Not unmanageable.

After 30: Now if I don’t pluck my chin every other day I start to look like Abraham Lincoln PDQ.

5.       Like A Flan in A Cupboard

Before 30: Back in the day my girl parts were tight. Elastic. A pleasure, I dare say, to all who ventured forth. Sometimes, if a man was large enough, I even *gasp* bled a little. How dainty I was back then!

After 30: Brilliant actor-comedian Eddie Izzard once quipped: “The Austro-Hungarian Empire, famous for fuck all! Yes, all they did was slowly collapse like a flan in a cupboard.”

Just like my girl parts after delivering a child.

(Yep. That’s right. I just compared my vagina to a collapsing flan, and by extension, the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Click here if you want to read more gory details about my gynecological woes.)

6.       Adult-Onset Grossness

Before 30: I’ll be honest. I’ve never been a porcelain-skinned doll. My face has always been a war zone, with troops of blackheads encamped across my nose, and small but tightly organized bands of guerrilla whiteheads terrorizing my T-zone.

After 30: Adult-onset cystic acne took hold after 30, running rampant once I got pregnant and gave birth to my son. Long gone are the mere pimples of yore, skirmishing for territory. Now huge, red, nuclear cysts explode all over my lower face and chin, taking months to go away and leaving bitter scorched earth behind.

7.       The Walk of Nosferatu

Before 30: I walked proud. I walked tall. I held my head at the 5’7” height it was meant to be held at. My knees didn’t make noise. Neither did my back. And while I’ve never been a morning person per se, getting out of bed was in no way the rich and painful symphony of grinding bones it is today.

After 30: Mornings now consist of me easing myself slowly out from under my bed covers, pulling myself up to an osteoporotic 5’3”, and shuffling downstairs to the kitchen like a slow, gimpy, complaining Nosferatu.

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8.       Ashy Feet

Before 30: You know what I did to take care of my feet before I turned 30? Essentially nothing. Sure, I painted my toenails. I took a pumice stone to the bottoms of my feet once in a while. Slathered on some lotion… sometimes. Generally though, my feet were fairly low-maintenance.

After 30: My feet are now drier, scalier, and ashier than the bottom of my oven after I never clean it. Bottom-of-the-foot maintenance is becoming increasingly more time-consuming, and it involves more acids, peels, lotions, and treatments than Gwyneth Paltrow’s ugly entitled face.

I’ll also add that my toenails have become thicker and more difficult to clip, with a serious tendency toward “the yellows.” Now I don’t paint them so they look pretty; I paint them so they don’t look disgusting.

9.       Piles for Miles

Before 30: You can read more about this in my previous blog post “piles for miles,” but the upshot is that before I turned 30 I had absolutely zero experience with hemorrhoids other than occasionally seeing a Preparation-H commercial on TV and thinking: “Gross.”

After 30: With pregnancy came piles. Piles for miles. And after the pregnancy was over, they didn’t leave. Now I’d classify my current asshole status as “bumpy at best, no man’s land at worst.”

10.   Hot Flashes

Before 30: What are hot flashes? I don’t even… only old women get those, right? I mean, menopause doesn’t start until you’re like, 70. I’m pretty sure.

After 30:

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So there you have it! Those are my sad but true “10 after 30.” Feel free to add any of yours that I’ve left off my list, and check the est. 1975 Facebook page early and often for fresh material!

hair removal, wikipedia-style (nsfw)

If you ever just happen to be awake at 3:00 AM, and if you ever just happen to be trapped next to a snoring husband, and if you ever just happen to find yourself combing the darkest depths of the Internet to keep from dying of boredom, you might just happen to stumble across the entry for “hair removal” on Wikipedia.

(I mean, not that I’ve ever done that or anything. I’m just saying you might.)

ANYWAY. If you do, it will be your awesome fortune to happen across the following image, subtitled “Sample distribution of body hair in women and men”:

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Awesome, right?

I totally appreciate what this image is trying to do. It’s trying to show us where we furry and where we not. However, while this picture may be accurate for some, it is certainly not accurate for all.

More specifically, it is not even remotely accurate for me.

So without further ado, I present to you: “Sample distribution of body hair in Sarah and men.”

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Keep your masturbating to a minimum, please.

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EDIT:

My girl T: You forgot yo butt crack.
Me: “Butt crack not shown.” I’ll add that.

an ode to the hairs on my chinny chin chin

There are many ugly hairs
that sprout out of my chin.
I pluck them out or shave them off
but they just come back in.

Back in my more girlish years
I had just one or two.
But after I turned thirty-five
a mighty forest grew.

Now it makes no difference
how much I depilate.
A quick look in the mirror and
I’ll spot one more or eight.

I carry tweezers with me
because I never know
when a wild chin hair will appear
and it will have to go.

Someday I will just give up
And without shedding a tear
I’ll stand up tall, puff out my chest
and grow a fucking beard.