I know that a lady is not supposed to admit her age but I'm going to get wild and crazy and tell you that I am 36 glorious years old. People have remarked my entire adult life that I am a kid at heart and I've really held onto that over the years to keep me feeling fresh and young. Well, since we're friends and all, I've got to admit that I am feeling a shift within me. It's not that I feel all old and lackluster or anything but I am feeling...less young than usual.
It's okay, I don't have to panic about it, even though I am a little bit. While at the dermatologist recently to get a biopsy done on a wonky looking mole (it came back benign-whew, now I can sleep again) I found myself looking at their anti-ageing literature out of the corner of my eye. I suddenly envisioned myself getting a chemical peel and some skin tone evening done on my face. You know what? I looked great in my imagination. Screw you wrinkles...I'm not scared of you. Well, maybe a little. Oh and you know what else? It didn't freak me out that I had that vision either. See what I mean, I've had a shift?
I feel myself trudging out of my fertile years and cruising into the next phase of my life. Where I am done having babies and I release my identity as a Mom with young kids. I know that I am years from hot flashes and Botox but I'm also light years away from my past of Cosmopolitans at Happy Hour and falling asleep drunk with my make up still on. No, these days I fall asleep quite sober with moisturiser smeared into every pore on my body. Except for the nights when I might slip a little Bailey's into my decaf and pass out on the couch at nine o'clock pm while drooling into pools of lip balm and mascara...but I'm not admitting anything. Okay, I'll go ahead and admit it. See, there I did it again, a shift!
It okay for me to age. It's okay for me to shift as I age. It's okay for me be 36 and feel 36 and just go ahead and accept that I am going to be 40 sooner than later. It's okay for me to get chemical peels and wear Spanx to the grocery store. It's okay for me to wear sensible shoes and elastic waste pants. It's okay that very soon, I will go to the grocery store in my Spanx and have no need to shuffle down the baby aisle because I won't have a baby any more. It's okay for my babies to become children and for them to be embarrassed by my sensible shoes and elastic waist pants. It's okay that I am trying really hard to convince myself that I will be okay with all of this.
It is going to be okay, right?











