Remember when you were pregnant and there was this “bible” of what to expect in each trimester? While not 100% accurate there was enough details that you were not shocked when all of a sudden you could tell the difference between Braxton-Hicks and holy hell this is the labor the book warned me about. This book was then followed by a book of fiction about your child’s first year and their milestones.

Now knee-deep in my 50’s, I am kind of wishing that in my 20’s or hell even 30’s there was a book of what to expect when I entered second half of this life.

For example, I wish I had known that I once I got married would be answering the question “what’s for dinner” every freaking day for the rest of my life. And that when we then procreated the little monsters would not only ask this question every morning at the ass crack of dawn, but then they would probably refuse to eat whatever I then cooked for dinner twelve hours later.

It would have been helpful to know that in your late 40’s you not only will have a reemergence of acne, but you would also grow grey hairs. Further shocking is that gray hair is not limited to the crown of your head but your chin!

You cannot see the chin hair unless you put your cheaters on. Yet your teenage feral child will point it out to you from 20 feet away.

It would be great to know that while you might never change your diet or activity level from your 20’s all of a sudden in your mid-50’s there is 10 pounds you didn’t even realize you gained because of hello leggings and boobs.

In fact, you are so happy in your 50’s that you finally have boobs, that you do not realize that secretly that is where the 10 pounds have been hiding that all of a sudden you gain another 5 pounds in your ass and belly.

You are still walking and eating the same meals, for example popcorn and pinot for dinner. The portions have not changed. You are still doing the same amount of activity. But BAM all of a sudden you have boobs, an ass and for fucks sake a spare tire around your waist.

In your 20’s you could literally fall off a truck and there wouldn’t be a bruise. Now you trip over a spec of dirt on the floor, and you swear you broke your hip or look like you’ve been beaten by a tire iron.

You now throw your back out and end up in PT from making the bed. The same bed in your 20’s knew wasn’t worth making because after all, you are just going back in later that night.

You can no longer read a menu in a restaurant with good lighting and +1.75 magnifiers. Or for those of us who always wore glasses, suddenly you have to take them OFF to read the menu.

In your 20’s the world was whatever you wanted it to be. For example, you could just decide to move to Maryland. Just pack your car and go to Colorado or Mexico or Japan. Now in your 50’s you have all these children and a spouse and a mortgage.

Which is why you cannot just leave your job. No one wants to pay you the wage to afford the lifestyle you are accustomed to. Not when they can pay someone in their early 30s half of what you deserve for your experience. In your 20’s you could live paycheck to paycheck and now all of a sudden you are once again pinching pennies to make that when that 30-year-old is suddenly your boss you survive their learning that with your age comes experience they should probably listen to.

The doctor you never went to in your 20’s is now telling you about your cholesterol levels, fair skin warnings and making you get those new boobs you grew squashed into the mammogram machine by a perky little 20-year-old that has the coldest hands possible since she hasn’t put on that extra padding yet.

Without warning, you are suddenly getting up at 3am to pee, and there is not a baby in your uterus playing the drums anymore. It’s just your body saying: I know you’re tired but fuck you not only am I going to make you have night sweats that make it look like the roof leaked, I am going to make you run to the bathroom, fall over a spec of dirt and maybe just maybe not pee your pants.

The man you married, the love of your life suddenly breathes so freaking loud. Thanks to menopause (which is missing an “n” it should be MEN-ON-PAUSE), not only is your libido hanging lower than your new boobs but this man that lives in your home has become so annoying. The things you thought were cute are enough to make you go nuclear.

Especially when he asks you what’s for dinner and there is freaking chicken defrosting on the counter. You answer (sarcastically with a side of snark, if you are being honest) “lobster obviously”.

On almost the dark side of my 50’s I realize I am closer to retirement age than I am to being legally old enough drink. How did time go by so quickly?

Yeah, there should have been some warning to our 20-year-old selves that midlife comes a hell of a lot quicker than you think!