Is it sad to embrace age? I started this blog when I was turning 30 (and having a hard time of it) and envying an "exciting" friend I don't talk to any more, and while I'm not saying I won't have an equally bad time (or worse) turning 40, my main problem with aging now is worrying about where the line is between being comfortable with my age and "letting myself go" in Tom's eyes.
I have gray hairs. Now, let me preface this by saying that Tom is just plain gray. Not even salt and pepper anymore, but gray. A beautiful shiny silver that I love. Like Richard Gere (growl and waggle eyebrows). But I have gray hairs that society tells me I must dye over. I could go on a rant here about chemicals and the stink of hair dye, but the fact is that I dyed my hair for over a decade. But, I like gray. I'd love white, but I'll be happy when the gray grows out and I can actually see how much there is (scraggly bar-hag grays or actual streaks?). The way I see it, little kids know that some day they'll grow old and be gray and wrinkly; it's only the delusional an denial-ridden who grow to think they can avoid that fact.
I'm always cold. I used to puff out my chest and think that it was because I was so thin, but the fact is I just get cold. So I wear a sweater. It's a shapeless old cardigan grandpa sweater, but I love it. It does, however, make me feel like my grandmother when I wear it. I have even been known to shove tissues up the sleeves on occasion. Hopeless, I know.
I'm stuck in my ways. This is another example of me not knowing where the line is. Where does "routine" end and "rut" begin? When I was pregnant and had diabetes, I ate oatmeal every morning. Real, old-fashioned, unsweetened oats that had to soak overnight on the stove. After Danny was born, I was glad to be done with all the dietary rules, but soon realized that a fear of weight gain and Type 2 diabetes scared me away from a lot of foods. So now, every morning, I eat real, old-fashioned, unsweetened oatmeal. Only now, I splurge and put milk in it. It's not my only routine, but who wants to read (or publish) a list of ridiculous habits?
I try to "act my age". You know that lady at the store (or bar or PTA meeting or whatever) who wears shorts so short you can see her episiotomy scar? The one with her stretch marks hanging out of her crop top who pulls into the parking lot with Lady Gaga blaring out of her 2 door car with booster seats in back? Yeah, I don't want to be her. I wear long pants most of the time, I stopped going braless years ago (when there developed a noticeable lag between when I turned around and "they" did) and I shun all sparkly, sequined, glittery, or foil-printed clothing. I am an adult and I will dress like it, even if it makes me look like I'm 60. I'm a firm believer that, "There's nothing tragic about being 50, unless you try to be 25." I'm not 50 yet, but I think it's true for most ages that it just looks pathetic to try to be younger than you are.