I had a birthday this month and suddenly realized I’m in my mid-thirties. I’m not sure why I just noticed.
Perhaps because I have two very, very busy children and I’ve slept through the night only a handful of times in five years.
Maybe because I was selling a house in one province and moving to another (during a blizzard) while six months pregnant, with no job lined up for my husband and no new place to live. Kind of busy.
It hit me when I was getting my hair cut and my hairdresser’s face was smack-dab above mine in the mirror, under the flourescent lights. I was fascinated by the smoothness of her skin. There were no dark circles under her eyes and no lines on her forehead. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have issues with aging (I’m ONLY 36, after all) but I was taken aback when it dawned on me that we were different.
I’m not that girl in her twenties anymore. That’s fine by me. Not that young, but not very old; standing outside the gateway to the entryway to the hallway of middle age.
Because I’m into lists lately, here are a few reasons why I think being 36 is better than being 26:
- I go to bed without washing my face and don’t wake up with skin like a hormonal teenager.
- Two words: Granny panties. Just kidding. Maybe when I’m 46.
- If I’m too tired to smile the little lines around my eyes do it for me. I’m finally trying out all the sample tubes of eye cream and concealer that have been collecting under my bathroom sink for ten years.
- I don’t care that my fashion sense is pathetic. Why read Glamour magazine when I can sleep? If my daughter can wear pink and red together so can I.
- My hair is thicker and fuller than ever. Never mind that the fullness is due to handfuls of it falling out after my daughter was born; the regrowth is wiry and white (!), but there’s a heck of a lot of it.
- I listen to my younger friends’ tales of dating woe as I curl up in my moccasins with a good book, my children sleeping peacefully upstairs and husband tap-tapping on his computer in the family room.
- No excuses are needed to go to bed at 9:30 on a Friday night. Or 8:00 on a weeknight.
- I can act all mom-ish when I need to and
yell atadmonish the mean kid in the park but still be crazy and set up our camping tent in the playroom and roast marshmallows in the fireplace.
- That random chin hair that appeared when I was 26? Now it’s white and barely visible if I forget to tweeze it.
What do you think? Do you like your thirties (or forties…or eighties) better than your twenties? Why?
NOTE: When asking my hilarious group of online, cross-Canada momma friends for input on this post, many of them cited bedroom activities as prime reasons of why 36 is better than 26. Since this blog is PG-rated (my 88 year-old grandma is a follower!) I will have to leave those suggestions up to your imagination. Thanks Jaclyn, Joanna, Erica, Marianne & Isabelle.
If you think I’m even a little bit funny, check out this Top 25 list at Circle of Moms. Click the link above, scroll down to Murphy Must Have Had Kids and vote each day until February 13th.