And for once I was SuperMom

Monday, September 12, 2011


This is the year that I turn thirty. When I turned 29 last September 12th I felt, ‘let’s just get this year over with.’ A good friend of mine referred to 29 as the ‘diet thirty.’
It’s been strange thinking of myself this year. I’m still in my twenties but not for long.

I have a friend who is a few years older than me, one time while we were together she kept repeating the phrase,
“Well you know, I’m past my prime,” and then she would go on about some makeup tip or other tip to make herself look younger or keep her husband interested. Every time she said it I just thought,
‘Who told you that?’ Then my next thought would be,
‘How sad.’ Later it went into further ruminations about defining beauty by youth rather than what actually makes a woman beautiful.
Awhile ago I saw an article in a woman’s magazine about women who looked more beautiful when they were in their sixties and fifties than in their twenties. They seemed to all the same things in common, as they aged they accepted themselves more and more. They worked with what they had instead of trying to change it, like wore their curly hair curly instead of straightening it. They grew into themselves and were more comfortable in their own skin.
I have made this my goal.

Somewhere in my twenties I made the goal that I would run a marathon the year of my thirtieth birthday, kind of a ‘I’m not dead yet!’ rally cry against the years. Oh, how little did I know. Seeing 30 as an age that defined me as old, as somehow fading in health and ability. I didn’t run that marathon this year, as we opened the door for getting pregnant in February. Those seemed like incongruous goals. (That was NOT an announcement of pregnancy.)
I feel stronger now than I did in my twenties. In a lot of ways I feel like I’m just getting warmed up.

Funny how thirty is the last harbinger of adulthood. Our culture has decided that if you aren't acting like an adult by now there is something really wrong with you. I felt the last nail in the coffin of maturity the other day when I drove the baby-sitter home for the first time.
Maybe than rather referring to it as nails in a coffin I should refer to it as a seed in the ground. Shucked of the burden of a lack of self awareness I can really grow realistically. Planted in stable and loving ground of my own little family and the family that brought me here, and the family that I married into I can continue to sprout.
This is the day, thirty years ago at 12:05 last night I came into the world. And, oh, the places I've been and, oh, the places I'll go.

1 comment:

Staci said...

Happy Birthday!

I love looking at age as just a number...and looking back fondly on everything that has happened with each number!

From a very young age I've admired my grandmommy's laugh lines (aka wrinkles)! Her joy shows on her face...and for that very reason I haven't been afraid to get wrinkles and lose my "baby" face. In a way I kinda look forward to it! (I wonder if I'll still feel this way 10 years from now? lol)