Age.
What does it mean to you?
My son turns 12 today, I’m amazed and stunned and scared all
at the same time. He was just born, like
YESTERDAY! Really, it can’t have been 12
years. It can’t be. He’s still my baby!
And I am 12 years older.
And heck, I was old then, by first time mothering standards. Strangely enough, that does not amaze, stun,
or scare me at all. I’m perfectly OK
with my age. I actually kind of embrace
it. Every year older I am, that is one
year more of experience gained. And one
year more of insecurities lost.
A lot of women lie about their age. That is a concept I just don’t get. I don’t want to relive my 20, not at
all. In my 20’s I was insecure,
financially unstable, and really didn’t know who I was. In my 40’s, I don’t give a crap what you
think of me, I don’t have to use a calculator in the grocery store to make sure
I’m not spending too much, and I’m exactly who I want to be (well, maybe with a
few more wrinkles than I deem necessary, but otherwise…).
When I was younger, I can remember looking at women my age
and thinking how “free” they were. The
things that were important in your 20’s just no longer existed at that age, and
I wanted to be there. It’s OK if I don’t
look like a supermodel, or don’t want to stay out all night partying, can take
care of myself, or if I want to wear comfortable shoes. And comfort, that’s where it’s at! Ironically enough, I had a few teenagers
compliment me on my Crocs sandals a couple of weeks ago….I just said “thank you”
rather than reveal the fact that they liked something so uncool, but deep down
inside I couldn’t help but wonder if they realized how nice it is to be older
too.
I’m 45 and proud.
Proud enough that I say I’m almost 46, though my son corrects me and
says you can’t say that unless you are within less than a month from your
birthday. He just doesn’t get it
yet. I love who I am, at whatever age I’m
at.
Enjoy life where you are at, wherever that is. Raise your glass. That’s why they have wine.
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