It crept in, slowly. I saw it coming, due
largely to the number of years and the lines around my eyes that have rapidly deepened
and multiplied on a scale of drugstore eye cream to pricing cosmetic
procedures.
Age. The kind that comes with adulthood.
I showed someone a picture of myself taken
about four years ago and they gaped – they thought it was an older picture. I
look much older now than I did four years ago. I was just under 40, I shrugged.
Forty was the magic age for me – the crossroads of youth and old age. At 40 I
took a hard right and am currently cruising toward the sunset of adult diapers.
I felt much younger back then, too.
When kids are small it’s easy for parents to
feel young. Drowning in half-eaten chicken nuggets and flattened juice pouches,
stepping on Legos and locating Barbie shoes – these things keep the years away.
I embraced a life of Little League and hot dogs for dinner twice a week, planned
trips to the zoo as if the zoo was my preferred destination and bought $12 bags
of cotton candy at Disney on Ice because COTTON CANDY.
The kids got older. We got rid of the
toys, painted over jungle- and fairy-themed walls in bedrooms, and went from
play dates and tucking in at night to I’m getting a ride to practice and we’re out
of frozen pizzas and I need new razors.
The seriousness of their burgeoning adulthood is
written all over my face and felt deeply in my soul. Their murmurings about
high school, then college, then life away from here have turned into real
conversations.
As they prepare to enter my world, I am more –
adult. I no longer teach how to tie shoes but how to navigate disappointment in
a healthy way. I watch them fall, and explain myself more. Contribute heavily
to discussions about evolutionary theory and the use of credit.
We are maturing, together.
Motherhood is a total symbiosis – when they
were talking about poop and telling fart jokes, I was right there with them,
slapping my knee and laughing just as loud. There were living room dance parties.
Now I’m sharing what it means to be a parent and they’re telling me why Warren
Buffett is so wealthy. We’ve always taught each other, but now they’re aware
of it.
I’ve always hated when people groan and
complain about age, how old they are. Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, baby, I’d
think. And then just the other day I said “I’m too old for this” like my AARP
card-carrying elders.
I’ve caught up to adulthood. I don’t feel young
anymore, and that’s okay. There are still plenty of people in my life who snappily
remind me how young I am, that my kids are still home, that this time of life
is fleeting, to enjoy every moment. Hey man, that’s cool.
Letting go of youth is a relief. Adulthood is
no disco, but it can be sweet. There is always something new to discover and
learn, whether or not children are present. That’s the freedom of life at any
age.
*******
This post inspired by:
Mama Kat's Writing Workshop
Prompt #1: A moment you realized you were a grown up.
I love you. THIS is AMAZING. *Sharing*
ReplyDeleteNo, YOU are amazing. *Kissing*
DeleteThank you. xo
As always, you have spoken (written?) straight to my heart.
ReplyDeleteThis is all of it. Exactly.
I can always count on you to validate what I am thinking and feeling. I so appreciate you. If we got together we'd turn into a big puddle of weepy feelings. xoxo
DeleteWell done! With age comes freedom. I'm growing up with my teenagers too. I'm weepy and proud all at once. (I love Mama Kat's prompts!)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Melanie! Weepy and proud - that pretty much sums it up, doesn't it?
DeleteYou have captured my life with your words, well done!
ReplyDeleteThank you! It's a relief to know others can relate.
DeleteYes, yes, YES.
ReplyDeleteTo all of this.
It is so funny because I never thought I would agree to any of this but now as I have my oldest two years from entering college and my youngest only entering third grade, I get it.
Age is more than a number.
And man, I am feeling it in my feet every day I wake up.
Did I just groan when I got up?
Nothing to see here.
I feel it mostly in my heart. Never in a million years did I think I'd get more sensitive and squishy. I thought old birds were supposed to get tougher, but by the time I'm done with this life, I'll be nothing but a puddle of tears and old memories.
DeleteLike my Daddy always says, "It's better than the alternative." ;) ("It's" being getting older)
ReplyDeleteWe've always taught each other, but now they're aware of it.
ReplyDeleteHow well I know this sentiment. The relationship changes with time...equals out. And that can be such a wonderful thing.
You're stunning, friend. And you can make me roar with laughter, all while dropping treasures like this:
ReplyDeleteThe seriousness of their burgeoning adulthood is written all over my face and felt deeply in my soul. Their murmurings about high school, then college, then life away from here have turned into real conversations.
I feel this post deep in my bones, my friend.
I'm 37 and feeling scared. It's true though, our kids have a way of aging us. We have to grow up in order to help them grow up.
ReplyDelete