I’m very excited to again this week to join a talented group of women bloggers in an online, unedited flash mob free write. This week, the word-prompt given to us by our fearless leader Kate Motaung (whose wonderful blog can be found at katemotaung.com) is “grow“. My timer is set for 5 minutes; ready, set 

Shhh . . . don’t tell Kate or the rest of the Five Minute Friday ladies (they are all ladies, aren’t they?), but I’m cheating this week.

When I first saw this week’s prompt, my first thought was “uh-oh”. Growth is not something I give much thought to. Determined to write, though, I set my timer and wrote a lovely (if I may say so myself) post about the beautiful flowers that greet my eye when I look out any window of my current home.

But truth be told, the post didn’t feel authentic. It felt forced, fake. I deleted it. Every single word.

Instead, here’s the unvarnished truth about my gut response to the prompt “growth”.

I know, it’s late Spring, so for most people “growth” conjures up thoughts of Spring flowers — daffodils and lilies — and new life and babies and a myriad of cute and wonderful things.

But I’m at a point in my life where “growth” can be an ugly thing. A very ugly thing.

Take, for example, my thighs. (Yes, I was very tempted to channel Henny Youngman, but I resisted — you younger folks can google his name and “take my” to see what I’m referring to)  Back to my thighs.

Early last week, I slipped on a pair of slim capris that I hadn’t worn since last August or early September. I was shocked to see that my thighs had, without my knowledge, experienced some growth in the last 8 months. I’m not shocked because it happened — my 16-hour a week commute this past semester has resulted in my being far more sedentary than usual — but I’m surprised that I hadn’t noticed before now.

Other than shorts and capris, I wear the same type of clothing in the Fall and Winter as I do in the Spring and Summer — skirts, pants, an occasional dress — and I get dressed and undressed at least twice a day. How could my thighs have grown without my being aware of it?

I thought perhaps that particular pair of capris had shrunk the last time I washed them, so I tried on another pair. Hmmm . . . and then I tried on a pair of shorts. Oh my! Well, no need to slip into — or force myself into — one of my swimsuits. It’s not the capris. My thighs have experienced growth. Unwelcome, unwanted growth.

And here’s another thing. Just the other day I was sitting in my car at an intersection, patiently (okay, not really so patiently) for the light to change. I slid open the covering to my sun roof and my front seat was bathed in gorgeous bright sunshine.

Just then, I looked at my face in my rear view mirror and gasped. Not only have the wrinkles I already had grown in length and depth, more than a few have joined them! When in the world did that happen?

And while I’m laying it all out here for anyone to read, I’ll confess that when I was gently massaging my just-purchased coconut oil (supposedly *the* best thing for those nasty wrinkles) on my face, I felt something on my chin that I’d never felt before.

Oh my goodness! I can’t. I thought I could, but it’s too ghastly to share.

I’m thinking I shouldn’t have deleted that cute little post about Spring and flowers and babies.