A Letter to the Mommy Tweeters and Bloggers

It is my birthday this Thursday. I will be 51. (Hey, don't click away cuz you think you have nothing in common with me - yet!) Which makes me the age of most of your mothers. (If I am old enough to be your fucking grandmother, you should not be reading this blog or my Tweets.)

Which makes me self-conscious. I know most of my Twitter Bitter Mommy friends are in their 30’s. I just read that one of you will be turning 30 this summer. Yikes! (And yes, Aunt Becky, getting out of your 20’s changes everything, for the better!)

I had my kids in my 40’s. There were all sorts of advantages. First, I didn’t meet the Tax Man until I was 35. We didn’t get married until I was 37. Now he is one awesome dude, and well worth the wait. Cuz we have quite a thing going on!

We had a successful business enterprise that we built together. We had resources. We had a calmness about us. We also had each been married before and could really appreciate what we had found in one another.

So age gave us an amazing marriage, a solidly successful business, calm maturity and resources.

My spotty health history probably impacted our ability to get pregnant, so after we did the fertility thing (all while my daddy was dying), and by the time it all worked out I was 40 when we adopted our sweet Blondie. (Damned good thing we had those resources!)

By the time our second baby came along, I was 44.

Which wasn’t such a big deal where we used to live. I found a group of about 4 older moms, all around 40ish. We were liberals in a conservative town, hanging together and comparing our joint pain and stiff backs when we picked up the babies.

And it’s not such a bad thing in Palm Springs. Most of our friends are gay, childless couples our age. The parents at the kids’ elementary school are all younger than I am, but they are mostly real women, with bellies and bad crop pants, just like me.

But then I found this great community on Twitter. And my life changed. Cuz I found the Real Yummy Mummies. And by Yummy Mummies I mean Mom’s who knew what Yummy really was: pop tarts, cupcakes, swearing, vodka, beer, sex (that one is for you @Mommyisdating) bitchin’ about their kids.

And there was nothing sappy about these women. And I felt good. I felt at home. I felt safe, understood and cyber loved. (Hey I’m needy – I take love and adulation wherever I can get it.)

And then I realized that I was old. Older. No, old actually. There are grandmas out there tweeting who are younger than I am. And I knew I was REALLY old when I posted about menopause, my pussy and Hormone Replacement Therapy and one of my favorite Moms commented: “My mom LOVES her Hormone Replacement Therapy!” (@Randaroopoo – I love you so much.)

So I write all these Tweets and Blogs about being so old. Cuz I feel old next to 30 somethings. (Are you all too young to remember the show “thirty something”?) So I haven’t wanted to say my age. And when some of you asked, I would only tell you in a DM.

And it is one thing to say “I am 50”, and another to say "51”. (I know, if you are in your 30’s, there is no difference between 50 and 51.)

But here is my commitment as a blogger. I will tell the truth. Hopefully I can make you laugh, and most importantly I want others to feel like someone “gets” them. I want to say the shit that many think but are too afraid to say out load. Cuz I’m older, I’m braver, I’m more therapized. So listen to me, the Older Bitter Mother. I’m here to guide you through.

Cuz in my 30’s I was thin, hot, a successful career chick, married, divorced, dating, sick, well, then married to The Tax Man and childless.

In my 40’s I was NOT hot, still successful running our family business, very married, sick, well and a mom. A bit of a bitter mom, certainly a tired mom, but a mom.

For my 50’s my goal is to be hot, successful in my own right, run a majorly successful business, blog, write a book, do a show, be well, be a mom of perfect angels who never bother me while I accomplish my goals, and not be embarrassed of my age.

Cuz I’m 51 on Thursday. And I’m needy. So love me up. And dammit – respect your elders!