His words have stayed with me as I transitioned through the childhood phases from infant to young adult with my three children.
Now I find myself with some glitter in my hair, a few extra pounds, glasses, and opting for comfort over style. Not that stylish heels were ever my thing.
But, ageism is still a thing. I went down the rabbit hole of trying to deny my age with the latest anti-aging potions, and covering my grays monthly.
Fun fact: it’s not working. None of it.
“You’re the old mom,” my 15 year old daughter reminds me.
She’s the baby and she’s not wrong. The parents of her friends are still in their thirties and early forties. I am not.
But never was it more evident to me than as of late when making a grocery store purchase not once, but twice.
While purchasing an adult beverage for a celebration the cashier immediately tapped the “over 50” button without hesitation. Ouch.
I know I don’t look under 21 but when the store rules say an I.D. is needed for anyone who looks under the age of 50, then following said rule is a must. Please…?
At the same store weeks later, I was again making a purchase that required an I.D. The cashier was in training with a coworker. The two of them set the bottle aside and after scanning the other items, they stopped and looked at me.
“We are trying to decide if you are over 50,” said the cashier trainer.
Well, at least she didn’t just push the “over 50” button this time, right? (For the record, I have not yet achieved the Big 5-0.)
So, it got me thinking, why am I buying face creams that don’t work? Why am I bothering to hide the sparkles in my hair? The side effects of GLP-1 medications for weight loss are of no interest to me (as a product of the “heroin chic” era, please Gen X, let’s not do this again), and I certainly can’t ditch the glasses (they hide the bags under my eyes).
Then everything clicked: life does get better with age.
I went down a different rabbit hole: aging gracefully. My husband doesn’t color his grays, so why do I have to? To be fair, he is aging like a fine wine and says his grays give him street-cred at work.
However, for me, what vanity was left has gone out the window and the transition is well, kind of liberating.
Don’t get me wrong, I still do my best to be presentable (when necessary) and attempt to stay active, but much like the movement to normalize different body types, there is also a more subtle movement to embrace one’s age.
It doesn’t mean aging is all wonderful; hormones still suck. Doctor appointments cause anxiety. Aches and pains are no fun, but letting go of the pressure to fit a certain mold is like taking a cleansing breath.
Is aging easy to embrace? No. Can I stop Father Time? Also, no.
But can I choose to embrace the golden - er, silver - years? Yes. It is the one thing about aging I can control.
You know what, daughter? I am the “old mom” and I feel fortunate to be here for it, turkey neck and all.
Motherhood, Part II, is a recurring column in the News-Sun.
About the Author