Aging Gratefully

Last week as I stood in front of the mirror in a crop top and brand new jeans, my seamstress kneeled down next to Maisy and ecstatically squealed “Baby girl, you have such a sexy grandma!”

What a weird thing for her to say about my mom…. She’s never even met Ree Ree…??? 

….Ooooh duck. 

I thought this [albeit entirely innocent] blow to my pride was an isolated incident. Ten days later in the Pick’n’Save checkout, my cashier motioned to my youngest offspring. “Are these two your only grandkids?”

You don’t need to cover me in flattery. I know I’m no walking poster-board of what society expects 37 to like. My eyes can’t handle contacts and I’m too afraid of Lasik, so I rock translucent pink frames just like my 90 year old grandmother wore until the day she passed. I had my first gray streak by 14 – I don’t have the patience to sit in a chair and get this birds’ nest painted every six weeks. I’ve said no thanks to the botox and fillers enthusiasm… it started out as a fear of needles thing and has now settled somewhere closer to my own personal crunchy soap box. Plus, I’ve done the math on these things. I’d rather buy a new Yurman if we’re open to discussing splurges. [Pssst, Nick: a mixed media gold and silver bangle would look nice in my stack…]

And somehow, I’ve wound up here thinking that honestly, it’s kind of a bit beautiful to just let it all happen. I’m so happy to be getting older with the man I love. I’m so blessed that age has brought babies. I’m so thankful that I’ve gotten enough years under my belt to conquer all of my career goals by 30, throw it all to the side, and make a family with my love. Isn’t it just the best? 

I’m horrified by how social media has crippled our idea of what a woman should actually look like. We’re encouraging our 13 year olds to pass for college kids, and shaming our 40 year olds when they don’t look 20. We expect women to spend five decades looking precisely and perfectly 21, then spontaneously “age gracefully” into their 60s… when suddenly the goal is to look effortless while embracing our gray? 

How exhausting.

What’s so wrong with looking burnt out from your first corporate job at 28? What’s flawed about carrying some extra belly and lopsided boobs as we bring babies into the world at 35? The smile lines that deepen in our 40’s from years of laughter with our babies – that’s not something to smooth out! That’s a physical marker of something completely and utterly beautiful. 

I have a house filled with little girls who are just about to start noticing these things. They’re going to notice the parts of themselves that are “conventionally” beautiful. They’re going to notice what makes them unique. They’re going to notice the little things that make them look like me. And you can bet they’ll notice if I ever decide that the way I (we) look isn’t good enough. 

Zary has the thickest, softest hair that glows gold in the sun – just like her Aunt Regina. Mina’s cute little eat-her-up stinker face has got my nose (well, at least the one I was born with before David presumably dropped me as a toddler and broke it in three places). Maisy smiles and her eyes crinkle up on the sides just like Nick’s… and her Auntie Mack’s… and her Uncle Michael’s. Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t it wonderful? They’re so proud to look like us. It’s our job to protect that confidence and never make them question their beauty.

I want my kids to grow up faithful. I want them to grow up kind. I want them to work hard and I want them to give back. My prayer for my three girls is that they grow up so assured in their hearts, so exuberant in their faith, so excited about their passions – that their physical beauty is just the cherry on top. 

Aging “early” is my own personal rebellion for the cause. I’m going to let it happen just however nature decides. And I’m going to show my kids that what happens to our skin and hair and body – that pales in comparison to what happens inside of us as we age. Welcome the growth, embrace the changes. Let that physical change be an outward sign of all the joys, triumphs, trials, and love that each year brings.

So I’ll lean in to the smile lines. I’ll show off the salt and pepper. I’ll take the grandma treatment. After all, grandmas do get special perks. Grandmas get discounts on mimosas at brunch. Grandmas get the last lounge chair on the pool-deck when everything has already been claimed.  Grandmas get a pass when they crack questionably inappropriate jokes.

So, yeah. Give me the grandma treatment. I’ll shoulder that “burden” for an extra couple of decades.