I have had a recent epiphany.
I'm old.
OK, not old old. Not ancient. Not quite the crypt keeper.
But I'm certainly older than I used to be.
I like dark chocolate. The type that's 72% cacao? That nasty stuff. Milk chocolate, the joy of my girlhood, is too sweet.
My lower back is something to be coddled and exercised. I wear a posture corrector so it doesn't go to pot while hauling a rather zaftig infant on my hip.
My kinfauna are dating. (Do they seek my insights after my many, many years in the field? Of course not.)
Despite my rigorous creaming program, smile lines are fighting back.
I'm going to be 35 this year. I shouldn't be so surprised.
I'm not upset by my revelation. It has made be contemplative.
Should I be having a mini-mid-life crisis? Frankly, I'm too tired. Ben doesn't quite sleep through the night, and I'm too busy gazing at him in a I-can't-believe-this-squishy-baby-is-mine haze to care that my "best" years may be behind me.
What was so "best" about them, anyway?
I spent my 20s thrashing about the dating quagmire, and in the process found myself. I think I was on a bit of a time delay, and during those years I had the self-discovery and whatnot that established my identity. I like that.
I like being sure of myself. Surer. Knowing what I am and what I need and who I want to be.
So here's to my dark chocolate, creaky bones, and determined wrinkles. It's time to start aging with grace, with the self-assurance I finally found.
5 comments:
Thirty-five is too early for a mid-life crisis these days. People regularly live until their eighties or even nineties. I'd say you've got another ten years to go before you need to worry about that. Of course, these days the "quarter-life crisis" is supposedly a thing...
Since my grandfather and mother died in their 60s, I've decided to freak a little earlier.
I'm sorry, I didn't realise (although I should have done the maths and guessed).
My husband pointed out a white hair the other day and offered to pull it out, if it bothered me. I told him heck no, I've earned every one of those white hairs. That was a paraphrasing from my mother after I asked her, with all of the tact a 6-year-old possesses, why she didn't use any of those anti-wrinkle creams advertised on TV. ("Because I have earned those wrinkles and am proud of everything they've been involved in accomplishing.") There's nothing wrong with using anti-aging products, but feel free to celebrate those smile lines!
At least they aren't frown lines! :D
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