I remember chatting with a teenager the other day. She said, “I love this color combo!”
I responded, “Yeah, it’s super trendy.”
Her eyes widened, and she exclaimed, “Wow! You’re the first not-super-young person I’ve met who actually uses the word trendy!”
I stood there for a second, trying to wrap my brain around her comment. Did she just call me old?
The girl beamed at me, her excitement palpable as if she had just discovered a rare dinosaur bone that might know a thing or two about pop music.
“Back in my day,” I said, “we called them punks.”
Her eyes lit up. “The shoes?”
“No, the hipsters.”
“That’s so cool you know that!”
I never thought I’d find myself in this situation. I still think of 1990 as if it was just yesterday, and Madonna hasn’t aged a day in my mind. But here I am, noticing the tendons in my hands becoming more pronounced, and those rogue chin hairs seem to multiply like rabbits. For every one I pluck, two more appear. One of these mornings, I might have to race my partner to the clippers just to keep my five o’clock shadow in check.
Kids also treat me like a true adult now. They listen when I tell them to stop climbing the playground equipment. Somewhere along the way, I became someone they automatically respect, simply because I “look” old enough. And don’t even get me started on how often I’m called “ma’am” these days.
Being Called Ma’am
Being called ma’am is a bittersweet milestone that reminds me of a few things:
- I no longer look as young as I feel.
- I’m completely out of touch with mainstream music.
- Most twenty-somethings look like they just walked out of the womb.
- Fashion has changed, and I seem to have missed the memo.
- Every tween I see now was still a twinkle in their parents’ eyes when I graduated.
In my twenties, I could eat an entire pizza and still lose weight. Now that I’m in my thirties, every calorie seems to cling to my body, especially in places I never knew could store fat, like that awkward space between my armpit and my boob that I like to call “side bacon.”
Exercise used to be about socializing and fitting into cute skirts that were more like napkins. Now, my skirts are basically bed sheets, and the only fluttering they do is when my kids play under them, using them as a fort. Working out has become a necessity—not just to keep the belly flab in check, but because I’m noticing the signs of aging. If I don’t stay active, I might end up fossilized and injuring myself just bending down to pick up a stray cat food.
Aging Lifestyle Changes
It’s not only about physical changes; my whole lifestyle has aged too.
Evenings that used to kick off at 8 p.m. now require the effort of finding a babysitter and making sure I’m back at a reasonable hour. When I do get the chance to go out, I find myself avoiding those late-night meet-ups because they’re too loud, and honestly, I’m already snuggled in my pajamas.
I’m undeniably getting older, and people are starting to notice. But, I guess in about 50 years, I won’t care about chin hairs anymore. I might be using those spaces under my tendons to stash coupons and my AARP card. I’ll still be clueless about current music, and by then, my side bacon will likely evolve into side ham.
As I stroll through the retirement community, rocking my faded Converse in gray and purple, I’ll still be in a world where 1990 feels like yesterday, and Madonna will somehow still be 32.
Resources for Home Insemination
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For more engaging content about parenting and life, feel free to explore our other posts, including this one on intracervical insemination.