The Second Puberty Between 40 and 41: A Personal Journey

home insemination Kit

I took off my sweater, not bothering to face the mirror. My sunglasses slipped off my head and joined the heap in the corner: jacket, handbag, scarf, phone—just a typical pile of everyday chaos.

I didn’t even need to glance at my reflection. I knew what I’d see.

Absently scratching a dry patch on my hand, I leaned against the wall. My back ached, and my feet were tired. Was it time to use the restroom again? I decided to ignore the subtle hints from my bladder. I had just gone less than an hour ago.

“Alright, sweetie. Let’s see what we have here!” Her voice was warm and inviting. She had beautiful dark hair framing her face and a smile that lit up her eyes.

I turned to her with a weary smile of my own. In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of my profile and noticed how things seemed to be drooping. It was as if my body was finally ready to relax after years of holding it together.

Without a hint of judgment, she assessed me. “You’re definitely wearing the wrong size. We’re going to fix that!” And with that, she dashed off, full of promise and hope.

Her words lifted my spirits, and I finally turned to the mirror, a mix of skepticism and excitement bubbling inside me. “Up!” I thought.

When did I start feeling like this? The aching back, the tired feet, the dry skin on my hands—were these my grandmother’s hands? Long, knobby fingers, covered in lines. Did it happen overnight, during some quiet moment between turning 40 last year and my 41st birthday next week? I can’t recall waking up and feeling drastically different—older, sweatier, grayer. Despite sleeping well, the reflection staring back at me always looks like a weary raccoon. And my breasts? Heavier and droopier every day.

I can’t pinpoint when it started. When did I notice that I needed new bras because the old ones suddenly felt too small? Puberty for those of us in our forties? I don’t remember the specifics of my first puberty, but I know there’s not much to control and far too much to let go of—like my sagging breasts.

“Okay, sweetheart, what do you think of these?” She showed me beautiful lace bras in cream, black, pale pink, and purple. The delicate colors were breathtaking, but it was the wide satin straps and supportive underwire that truly caught my attention.

No matter how unyielding time is on my body, my breasts will not fall victim to this hormonal war.

With the precision of a drill sergeant, she unhooked, re-hooked, adjusted, twisted, and snapped those bras onto me. She was gentle, kind, and soon we were giggling like old friends.

My hair sneaks in gray when no one’s watching. And every time I sneeze or laugh too hard… well, you get it. It’s confusing and bewildering how all this happens, like I’m a passive observer in my own body. It’s unnerving to feel so out of control.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. I could do Kegels (I don’t, but I really should) to laugh and sneeze without worry. I can buy a pretty, supportive bra from someone who’s determined to lift me up—one that feels comfortable all over, even where the underwire sits. And I can look down at my dry, wrinkled hands and smile, knowing I carry a piece of my grandmother with me.

I glanced at my reflection one last time, smiled genuinely, and gave my new friend a big hug of gratitude. With my purchases in hand, I left the store, feeling confident and uplifted.

If you’re curious about navigating similar experiences, check out this article for more insights. And for those on a journey toward parenthood, Make a Mom offers fantastic resources. Plus, WebMD has great information on pregnancy and home insemination.

Summary:

This reflection on going through a second puberty in your 40s captures the physical changes and emotional challenges that come with aging. The narrative reveals the surprising and often overwhelming journey of self-acceptance, highlighting the importance of self-care and support from others.