Raising Gaybies: When Gay Goes Gray.. Coming To Terms With My Aging Body : Good Enough Mother

Raising Gaybies:
When Gay Goes Gray..
Coming To Terms With My Aging Body

It’s nice to know that my eyesight is 20/20 so I can clearly witness the atrophy of my earthly shell.

This week I had doctor appointments. A FIAT has less problems. It’s a bit depressing.

In the 3 years I took over as full time dad, my hair has developed noticeable strands of silver like Christmas tree tinsel. I can play connect the dots with the brown spots on my arms and legs. My skin has the elasticity of an old rope. I have arthritis in my neck. And gravity has pulled my @ss down hard enough that it has the shape of a Bartlett pear.

But gay men – let’s be honest – we can be very body conscious. Some of our friends have bulging biceps and then have kids – thinking they are going to keep it. They don’t. Gay men like to look good. Probably why many woman venture to guess (usually correctly) that a single guy with a great body and who “manscapes” is gay. The reason some of us gay men have all that time to work on our bodies is because we don’t have kids. We don’t have that stress and responsibility.

Now we do – hence the long-drawn-out collapse of the parental body and the mind.

I used to go to the bar for “T dance” – a quick drink with some friends. Now my best bet is a self-declaration of “wine :30” while the kids are trying not to kick each other’s teeth out.

Oy vay! I have turned into an old Jewish man. What’s next? My hearing, shopping at the Dr. Scholl’s store, and a good pair of pants with a belt that will fit somewhere between my nipples and my belly button.

Really? Honestly, it’s not the kids’ fault – it’s the cosmic joke of aging.

Some of my friends still go to “circuit” parties to dance and stay up for hours. I go to “circuit” parties – it’s a trip to “Pump it Up” where kids jump in a maze of bouncy houses and propel down slides as parents are corralled from room to room – ending with heavily frosted cake, cold pizza, a good vomiting child and a bag full of hard candy.

The irony in all this is that – I love it. Why? Because you get to feel the force of life. When I hold our children, my soul glows. I feel incredibly blessed and fortunate because you can feel the palpable force of love and life. There is nothing like our child asking me to bend down so they can rub my neck because they know it hurts. Or draw a picture of a unicorn with their name on it.

So let the arches fall – flat feet – I am ready for you old age, colostomy bag – I am saving a loop on my pants for you. I’m only half way through this organic shell – just one request – please leave me off the “blue” pill list for a few more years – I still got some spark left.