“Please, no one ask about my age!” I whisper to myself as I try to slip out of the classroom before someone catches me. All the parents in my daughter’s class seem to be younger than me. I would never lie about my age, but do I really need to bring it up?
Then my daughter chimes in, “My Mommy just turned 45!” I could feel the collective gasp from the room, and honestly, it came from me too. While everyone is polite, I can tell they’re taken aback. I can hardly believe it myself. Forty-five feels like it should be a milestone, not a countdown to the “long life” articles people write. Here I am, 45 and still feeling like I’m just hitting my stride.
I’ve never been bothered by my age before. Being the youngest in my family meant I was always surrounded by older folks. Even when I had my first child at 37, I found myself in a circle of Mom friends who were older. I could still be the “baby” of the group, even as I approached middle age. Living in Los Angeles for longer than I want to admit, I’ve seen women freeze their ages at 29. As I embraced my growth in wisdom, I’d proudly share my age, receiving responses like, “You’re a baby!” or “You’re so young!”
But now, when I mention my age, the responses have shifted. People say, “Forty-five? Wow, you look amazing for your age!” Then they spend the next ten minutes pretending not to scrutinize my skin for signs of aging. At 45, every detail about me seems to be defined by time. I find myself in a competition with time that I didn’t even enter.
And when I’m not being compared to someone who just celebrated their 100th birthday, I hear the phrase, “Forty-five is the new 30.” Really? I don’t remember 30 being so great, and I certainly don’t recall hot flashes being a perk of youth.
The truth is, while I feel more knowledgeable and put together than ever, I also have a spirited 4-year-old at home. I don’t want to miss a single moment of her life! It’s not about looking old—I just don’t want to feel old and miss out on the fun.
So, the next time some fresh-faced mom tells me that I should embrace my age because it’s all about perspective, I’ll clarify: “Actually, forty-five is the new 46.” And I’ll ask her where she takes hot yoga, knowing full well I probably won’t go. After all, the one redeeming quality about aging is realizing you don’t have to be someone you’re not. If only I had figured this out back when I was 30, which I hear is the new 29.
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Summary:
Aging is a journey filled with mixed emotions, especially when it comes to motherhood. At 45, the author reflects on her experiences with age perceptions and the pressures of societal standards. While she enjoys wisdom and knowledge, she is determined not to miss any precious moments with her young child.