Baby or a Boob Job

Several months ago one of my very best friends and I met for coffee. In the course of the usual banter we discussed her niece (who is married to a very wealthy man) who had just had plastic surgery to ENHANCE her already perfect 25 year old figure. Being in the 40ish zone and having no where near a 25 year old body (I may have underwear that is 25 year old though!) we mused over the possibilities of having a boob job...or a baby.

Forty is a funny age. I haven't gotten to it, although it is so close I can smell it. It seems to be an age where one of two things happens, at least in my small circle of friends:

One, you either get a new hair do (bleach, tint, cut, etc) and lose weight.

or

Two, you have a baby (get or find yourself pregnant, adopt, become a foster mom)

I admit that I'd like a sassy new do! You know, one of those short, spiky jobs with blonde streaks (or pink streaks!) but I'm too poor and too scared to actually do it. I mean, what would the children think? My daughter would crawl under her bed and refuse to go anywhere with me and my son would ask if he could dye his green...

What would my mother think? In all honesty, she'd probably think it rocked and go get the same cut, like she did when I was 18 and cut all my hair off and got my ears double pierced!

What would the church think? HA! Okay, I have to admit that I think it would be wickedly funny to walk into a Sunday service with pink spiky hair. I just do. I know there are folks there who would never speak to me again (not that they do now!). But I also know there would be a few old saints who would laugh with me and see my point of view.

But, since I lack both funds and guts, the hair thing just isn't going to happen.

Which leaves...A baby...

In the depths of my heart I have longed for, lusted after, dreamed of, having another child for years. Yet, there remains just the four of us in the little house. Sigh. Not that we haven't kicked the adoption ball around. It just seems that it is was never the right time and now I'm nearly forty.

Forty...

Babies are a lot of work. Aside from all the baby activities (up all night, crying all day) then you have to start all over with the terrible two, tens, and thirteen's. Please don't misunderstand me, I LOVE MY TEENAGERS. They are the light of my day and are a delight to be with (well, most of the time!). But to think of going through alllllllll that again?! I can honestly say I'm just not sure I want to.

Months ago when my girlfriend and I laughed over this issue, we both decided that we'd rather have a boob job.

Now, she is a foster mom...

I guess this means I'll be going to the plastic surgeon alone.