July 1, 2013
Age. A delicate topic in some circles I'd imagine.
And something to be embraced in others.
A few things have happened this week to make me want to write about age, my age specifically, and what it really means.
How old are you?
Are you in your twenties, or your mid thirties, or your fifties?
Or older? I have some readers who are indeed older, like my dear friend Mimsie, who writes so beautifully, I'm enchanted every time I read.
A blogging friend, let's just call her the Divine Miss N, was recently turning 40, and she didn't quite know how to feel about reaching this milestone. This reminded me of when I turned 40, and refused to accept a party, or to even acknowledge my special day.
I still felt young, and I wasn't ready to reach the big 4 0, so maybe if I forgot about it, I'd wake up and still be 25, and my body would be the same! It took me months to come to terms with knowing that I wasn't going to be young forever and to just embrace it....which I did.
I've recently turned 46 and probably on the downhill slide to 50, but let's not go there. Not yet.
Yesterday, my daughter commented on the silvery lines across my belly, to which I replied "yes, I'm not surprised after carrying a small human inside my body....three times over".
Was it worth it? Absolutely every time.
And as the optometrist prescribed progressive lenses during my appointment yesterday (to cover my long distance eyeball defect AS WELL AS my old age can't read anything up close issue) I thought I'd done well to get to this age without needing them.
Age is just a number. It doesn't matter what it says. It's how you feel, and how you throw your arms around life and what it gives you. We all have our milestones and goals to achieve, and if the best thing I've done in my life is become a mother to three beautiful and creative children, well, I'm content.
And more so when I get my glasses as I'll then be able to see! Happy Days!