As I navigate my way out of the classroom, I silently hope no one asks me how old I am. Everyone else seems to be younger than me, and while I would never lie about my age, I don’t feel the need to bring it up either. But there it is—my daughter proudly announces, “My Mommy’s 45 today!” The gasp that escapes me surprises even myself. I can sense the polite shock from the other parents; I’m not just 45, I’m 45 and still feeling like my journey is just beginning.
I’ve never really been bothered by my age. As the youngest in my family, I was always surrounded by older siblings. Even when I had my first child at 37, I found myself in a circle of friends who were all older, allowing me to play the “baby” role even as I edged toward middle age. Living in Los Angeles, where it feels like everyone stops aging at 29, I embraced my growing wisdom and even enjoyed announcing my age, often receiving compliments like, “You’re still just a baby!”
But now, the compliments have shifted. When people hear I’m 45, they say things like, “Wow, you look amazing for your age!” and then spend the next several moments scanning me for any signs of aging. At this stage, I feel as if my worth is measured against the relentless march of time, where I’m compared to someone who just celebrated their 100th birthday on the Today show.
And then, there’s the ever-popular refrain that “45 is the new 30.” Sure, if you ignore the fact that 30-year-olds don’t usually have hot flashes or skin that could double as wind chimes. Honestly, my 30s weren’t my favorite years, so why would I want to relive them?
The reality of getting older is that those younger than you seem to want you to embrace it wholeheartedly. I feel more composed, knowledgeable, and wise than ever before, but I also have a lively 4-year-old at home. I don’t want to miss any moment of her childhood. It’s not about fearing age; it’s about not wanting to be sidelined in the beautiful chaos of motherhood.
So, the next time a young mom with flawless skin tells me I should be thrilled to be 45 because it’s really just 30 in disguise, I’ll respond with a smirk. “Actually,” I’ll say, “forty-five is the new 46.” Then I’ll casually ask her where she goes for spinning or hot yoga, fully aware that I likely won’t join her. The one silver lining of aging is the realization that I no longer feel pressured to be someone I’m not. If only I had figured that out at 30, which, ironically, I hear is now the new 29.
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Summary:
A humorous reflection on turning 45 and the societal pressures surrounding age, this article explores the author’s journey through motherhood and self-acceptance. It highlights the generational differences in perceptions of age while embracing the joys of parenting.
Keyphrase: Age and Motherhood
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