This week, I attended a mandatory training session at work that included a segment on age discrimination. Apparently, the Age Discrimination in Employment Act (ADEA) protects individuals aged 40 and above from workplace bias. Wait, what? Now that I’ve crossed into my 40s, there’s a law ensuring I’m treated fairly because of my age? I still chuckle at silly jokes, so how can I possibly be “old”? It seems I’ve been unceremoniously thrust into the “middle-aged” category without any prior warning.
Physical changes are inevitable, and my rational mind knows this. However, some of these changes have come at lightning speed. The first sign? Chin hairs. One morning, I woke up to find the solitary chin hair I had nurtured since college had multiplied like rabbits. Suddenly, I resembled a billy goat. The amount of time I devote to chin hair grooming each week is astounding. My husband often walks in to find me perched on the bathroom counter, a magnifying mirror in one hand and tweezers in the other. We jokingly refer to this as “foreplay.”
Neck wrinkles have also become a troubling reality. How does one even explain this? Is gravity trying to choke me? Did my head gain weight overnight, adding strain to my neck? Does Richard Simmons have any helpful advice on this in his workout DVDs? Or are women destined to age like trees, with neck wrinkles resembling growth rings?
My hair, once a thick mane of beauty, is now thinning. I’ve even resorted to taking prenatal vitamins in a desperate attempt to restore its former glory—the only side effect being a constant battle with constipation. It feels like my hair has decided to head South for the winter, and my chin is that South.
I used to bristle at comments like, “You look good for having three kids; you must work out.” This is what I call a compliment sandwich—an insult cleverly disguised. How about I just “look good” without the qualifications? The same goes for age-related comments. If you say, “You look great for 41,” you might just get a punch to your smooth, youthful throat.
On the bright side, the perks of aging outweigh the wrinkle creams. I used to care excessively about how others perceived me. I would fret over an unanswered message or a passing remark. Did I offend someone? Please like me! Now, however, I am comfortable in my own skin and recognize the value I bring to my relationships. Outside of family and friends, I genuinely don’t care what others think. It’s a liberating experience.
I now embrace my quirks. I’m an open book, unapologetically honest, which is likely why friends seek my advice. There’s never any judgment from me—every bizarre story, embarrassing episode, or awkward moment is celebrated, often over a good glass of Pinot.
In my younger years, I was quick to apologize for everything. Heaven forbid anyone might be upset with me. The woman I am today only apologizes when I’m truly in the wrong. I refuse to apologize for my unusual obsession with Nicolas Cage, for reading only half of the bedtime stories to my toddler, or for prioritizing annual girls’ trips until I can no longer travel—preferably until we all end up living together like the Golden Girls. I’ll take on the role of Blanche, and I won’t apologize for any of my escapades.
Taking risks has become my new mantra. The safe route isn’t appealing anymore. I’ve begun writing and even signed up for my first marathon. Last summer, an older gentleman in a “Ask me about Race Walking” shirt passed me during a race, but I refuse to be discouraged. I now walk around naked in front of my husband—something I rarely did in my youth. Back then, I was too preoccupied with how I looked. Now, my husband is simply thrilled to see a naked woman in the room, which usually leads to some fun.
I’ve also become more protective of my time. I recognize its worth. A recent exchange with my 11-year-old daughter highlights my fabulous 41-year-old self:
Her: “Mommy, I need a dessert for my class party.”
Me: “I can grab something from Target in the morning.”
Her: “But all the other moms are baking!”
Me: “That’s great. I work full-time and have three kids. I don’t have time right now.”
Her: “You’re watching TV!”
Me: “Excellent observation. And I hope one day you understand what truly matters in life. For me, at this moment, it’s The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Also, could you fetch me a glass of wine?”
Lastly, I’ve learned to take things less seriously. Life has shown me enough tragedies—good people facing unimaginable hardships—that it’s given me perspective on what truly matters. Just last week, my 9-year-old son yelled, “Mom, Gavin pooped on the kitchen floor!” Sigh. Potty training fails are no fun. But then he added, “Never mind, the dog just ate it.” Problem solved, and I didn’t even have to put down my glass of wine.
In summary, while aging brings its share of physical challenges, it also offers newfound confidence, clarity, and joy in embracing life’s quirks. For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, you can check out this excellent resource.