Slice of Mid-Life

UGH.  In the MIDst of dressing the other day, I noticed (not for the first time, but for the first time since I've started this blog) a protrusion around my MIDsection. These days the MIDriff has some cute names:  muffin top, etc. . . which aren't that cute when trying to squeeze into or out of clothes. All of this has made me ponder all the MID in my life.  I'm from the MIDwest, MIDway between the coasts.  I am not the MIDdle child - but my sister is.  My kids are in MIDdle school, in their MID trimester, and don't like to go to bed before MIDnight and don't like to get up til MIDday.  I'm firmly entrenched in MIDdle age, the supposed MIDpoint of my life. I drive a MIDsize car, often down the MIDdle of the road. And to top it off,  I now buy MIDrise jeans - not too low (refer to aforementioned mega muffin top) and not too high (can't breath or belt).  Come to think of it, I haven't belted in more than a decade.  And to that astonishing revelation, I throw up my MIDdle finger.