The thought of wearing “granny panties” both brings a sense of comfort and a tinge of anxiety about growing older. It’s a perfect metaphor for how I feel about aging—it’s a blend of excitement and dread.
You might think there is nothing thrilling about getting older, but have you spent time with elderly folks lately? They aren’t being pressured to join the PTA anymore, and they can stroll at their own pace without fear of judgment. No one’s asking them to mow the lawn or whip up dinner, and there’s no pressure to hit the gym daily or fit into a swimsuit. Aging certainly has its share of benefits.
Getting older is largely about your mindset, and I’m committed to being a fabulous old lady. I’ll don oversized hats and speak my mind when the moment calls for it. Talking openly about my body, when appropriate, won’t faze me in the slightest. Embracing the freedom that comes with age feels liberating, so I choose to welcome it.
However, I also refuse to conform to the stereotype of the judgmental old lady. No, I won’t be that person who tells a young mom to “put a coat on that kid!” or “cherish every moment because it goes by so fast.” Those phrases have been uttered to me more times than I can count, and I refuse to pass that pressure onto anyone else.
Instead, I’ll share relatable anecdotes like, “One time, I was at Target when my toddler toppled an entire display of movies and then crashed his cart into an unsuspecting old man,” or “My kids once asked me in a public restroom why I was so hairy down there, and people were snickering when we left.”
I’ll advise new moms to grab their favorite treat at the store and sneak a moment of indulgence in the closet because let’s face it, parenting is incredibly challenging. I’ll reassure her that she’s doing better than she realizes.
I vow to be the type of old lady who pays for a young mom’s groceries when her kid is acting out in line or offers a kind word instead of criticism when a child is misbehaving. I’ll be the one who quietly says to a frazzled mom, “Kids can be little terrors, can’t they?” when she’s on the brink of tears, or the lady who makes silly faces at the snotty baby in the cart. I’ll let that young mom cut in line because, honestly, I’m not in a hurry.
I’ll treat a young mom to dinner just because, and I won’t burden her with advice on how to keep her wild child seated. Instead, I’ll ask the waiter to slip her a note praising her kids’ behavior, even if they were little rascals throughout the meal.
I’ll be the neighbor who always has candy for the kids and won’t bat an eye if they play in my yard. I’ll wear whatever I want and say what everyone is thinking, but I won’t call out a mom for looking a bit disheveled. Instead, I’ll compliment her on her style, even if she looks like she’s been through the wringer.
If I know her well, I’ll offer to babysit while she runs errands or bring her some soup if her kids are sick. I won’t fuss over whether her children are wearing socks in winter or if their faces look like they haven’t been cleaned since birth. When I see a young mom overwhelmed by her toddlers, I’ll smile and let her know she’s doing a great job.
And I definitely won’t say, “It goes so fast.” That phrase only adds guilt to an already challenging situation. I remember how isolating it can feel and how much I craved support from those who have walked the path before me.
I might even give her a reassuring hug and let her know that everything will be alright. Because it truly will.