Once upon a time on September 22nd, 30 years ago, an adorable little baby was born. She had a head full of dark hair and she was free of wrinkles, stretch marks, sun spots and white hairs.
Fast forward 30 years and that same baby was now graced with all the afflictions mentioned above. But she was also graced with wisdom, humility, appreciation and rock hard buns.
With age comes some pretty awesome gifts. So no, I’m not here to whine about a number that holds absolutely no power over the way I feel. I don’t stand in front of the mirror every morning saying “You is smart. You is beautiful. You is important” like some mad woman’s mantra. I’m here to celebrate my aging body!
I’d like to start off by saying that my body was already ruined in my twenties.
I had all three of my kids by age 27. With that included (without my permission)
- A road map of vericose veins on my thighs. Sometimes if the road isn’t too bumpy I can use them as a GPS.
- Angry white stretch marks on my belly that, in the right lighting, look like a zebra that lost 600 lbs.
- A kangaroo flap where my belly used to be. I sometimes harbor thoughts of stealing a Joey from the zoo and bouncing off into the sunset. Just because.
- An extra fee at the airport to check the bags under my eyes.
Such is life as a mother. I mean, sure I could edit them out (and I do if the situation calls for it. A robot, or fire goddess just can’t have stretch marks) but mostly I am fine with those few things listed above. Besides, I still look like a swim suit model when naked. A very short swim suit model.
Thirty years of living has also brought its fair share of aging. After all I am not just a mother. I am also a farmer, a dog groomer and a crocheter. None of these things have been easy on my body. Let’s talk more about some changes I’ve noticed since thirty approaches.
- A random black hair that grows out of my arm. Really? Why? Why are you there? What is your purpose? If I pluck you, will two more grow in your place?
- White hairs! This I was expecting. And I’m pretty excited to be going white instead of grey. (I’ll just be over here in the corner pretending I’m a character from Final Fantasy)
- The wrinkles around my eyes I wouldn’t change for the world. They are testimont to being married to the funniest man alive.
- I must have turned into Strecth Armstrong sometime in the night because I swear I woke up a month ago and I have the stretchiest skin in all the land. It’s just looser somehow. Aging is weird!
- If the weather drops ten degrees my knees act like underpaid nurses and go on strike. And I’m stuck with crab walking around the house. (Ain’t that some lovely imagery?)
- A back that sounds like a toddler on crack got a hold of bubble paper.
- Everyday I can count 17 new freckles on my face. If you connected the dots it might show a pretty snazzy pentagram. It might not.
But even with all of these aging woes I am still so jazzed about turning thirty. I can look back at my younger self and not feel sad. Mostly because I have a wonderful man who tells me how beautiful I am everyday. But also because I feel I have risen above the media’s standard of beauty and know that deep down, I is smart. I is beautiful. I is important. Did that just happen?
Let’s end this birthday celebration post with some pictures of my aging face. Note the freckles, checked baggage and wrinkles as the pictures get further down:
Eye wrinkles, man. Eye wrinkles.
Such is life.
So let’s celebrate our aging bodies and all that life has given us, random black hairs and all!