Just When I Thought I'd Dropped My Last Egg Life and Other Calamities

by Gifford, Kathie Lee

• ISBN13: 9780345512079
• ISBN10: 0345512073
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2010-02-02
• Publisher: Ballantine Books

Summary

Just When I Thought Irs"d Dropped My Last Eggis Kathie Lee Giffordrs"s triumphant laugh-out-loud celebration of forging ahead with gusto, even long after wers"re old enough to know better. Age, after all, isnrs"t a number, itrs"s a state of mind, and being fertile isnrs"t just about having babies, itrs"s about being passionate and creative. Writing with the candor of a friend who knows where the bodies are buried, Kathie Lee reveals the truth every woman of a certain age knows but wonrs"t admit: that we love our kids every second of every day but are counting the minutes till theyrs"re ready to go off to college, that even though gravity is a constant force, not all parts of our bodies droop at the same rate, and that life and show business share one simple rule: "Donrs"t sit by the phone and wait for a man or a job." Full of warmth, humor, and down-to-earth wisdom, this wonderful book is a delectable read for grown-ups of all ages.

Author Biography

Kathie Lee Gifford is best known for her fifteen-year role as co-host of the nationally syndicated Live with Regis and Kathie Lee. She recently returned to television as a co-host of the fourth hour of the Today show. In addition, she is writing and producing a number of stage musicals. She lives in Connecticut with her husband and children.


From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpts

Eggspectations


Since the beginning of time the same question has been asked over and over again: What came first? The chicken or the egg? Well, I’m happy to say that I finally have the answer.

It’s neither. The chicken’s mother came first.

That’s right. The mother dropped an egg and the first chicken was hatched.

And that’s what we chicks have been doing ever since.

So, if you’re reading this, I have obviously not dropped my last egg yet.

Oh, sure, I dropped my last reproductive egg a few years ago. But my fertility eggs? Fuhgidaboutit.

I’m Fertile Myrtle now. I’m back to a daily grind on the Today show after an eight-year hiatus from television, I’m producing my fourth musical for the theater, I’m in development for two screenplays to be made into films, I’m halfway through writing my first novel, and I’m under deadline to finish this book by Christmas.

In other words, forget about a pig in mud. I’m more like a pregnant pig in placenta!

I share none of this information in a bragging way—on the contrary, I am so overwhelmed with gratitude that I still find joy and wonder and inspiration and challenge each day that I want to encourage everybody else to understand that the same sense of creative fertility is possible for them.

For years our society has perpetrated the perverse notion that once nature is done with us—especially women—we’re done, too! “ONLY THOSE WHO OVULATE ALLOWED!” But it’s a lie, and we don’t have to cooperate with it. Who says we have to hoist our beefy carcass onto the gurney and disappear into the sunset? Not me. Because you know when we’re really done? When we drop dead, that’s when. And even then it’s a whole different discussion about where we go from there.

But until that day comes, I believe we can experience creativity far beyond our wildest expectations. We can give birth daily to something beautiful and meaningful in ways we’ve never dreamed. Because when we’re older, we are free from raising young kids, building careers, and managing households, all the while battling Midol headaches. I don’t bloat anymore! Now it’s just fat, but that’s another essay. Think how much money we’re all saving because we bypass the feminine hygiene shelves at the drugstore. Okay, you argue, but what about all the hormone replacement stuff and edamame we need now?

You’re right, nothing’s perfect. But that’s really my point. Our lives stopped being perfect the moment we slipped out of the womb and got our heinies smacked.

Right then we should have realized that those days of sloshing around safe and sound in that amniotic fluid without a care in the world were over.

But, no. Then society started reinforcing that other ridiculous lie: that “happily ever after” crap.

We’d no sooner finish reading those fairy tale books when we’d start dreaming of our own Prince Charming, riding up on his Harley and carrying us away.

Oh, he rode up and carried us away all right. To a life of cooking, cleaning, birthing, and diapers. But we didn’t mind, did we? We were doing what we were created to do AT THAT TIME in our lives.

But none of the books we were encouraged to read ever mentioned that Prince Charming might end up being a jerk or a lousy provider or even, unfortunately for some, gay, which is indeed problematic in a traditional marriage.

So even if he was a sweet, loving, hardworking heterosexual prince, chances are his breath stunk, or he was a slob, or he ate too much or developed hair in weird places or liked to play with his putter more than he liked to play with his wife. And if we women are really honest, we might even admit that we were no “picnic in the park

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Excerpted from Just When I Thought I'd Dropped My Last Egg: Life and Other Calamities by Kathie Lee Gifford
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