I seem to be reminded at every turn lately that I am getting older. I struggle uncomfortably with the idea of aging. Though, as my husband reminds me, getting older is better than the alternative.
When I look in the mirror, the face looking back at me doesn't really look all that different from the one I saw there when I was 18. There are some gray hairs, and I debate with myself regularly as to whether "it's time" to start coloring my hair. That isn't such a big deal, though. I have friends who have colored their hair since their teens so it isn't an activity that is tied to age.
Whatever might have been eye-catching about my figure in my 20s, has morphed into something different after four pregnancies. I can't say I love the effects of gravity, but I do look at my stretch marks as merit badges on my motherhood sash.
Injuries happen more easily these days and I take longer to recover. Recently, I knelt on the floor, a regular activity for anyone with young children. This time, I knew instantly that something was very wrong with my knee. My husband and I watched with some fascination as it ballooned to the size of a cantaloupe.
Of course it was a Sunday evening, so off I trooped to the emergency room, where I was reminded of another reality of my years — the doctors are all my age or younger. When I was younger, I thought doctors were all so old. Now the "older" ones are around my older brother's age. I dread the day they are all younger than I am.
My knee was not seriously injured and I quipped to the doctor that it was an old lady injury. He laughingly responded that it usually is a young construction worker injury. I'm not sure my husband found either image all that attractive.
There are advertisements that I read more closely than I used to. There are many potions and lotions available to "fight the signs of aging". They target women from 35 to 60 and use 30-year-old models to promote their products. Talk about false advertising.
Recently, I saw a magazine advertisement for a new "filling and sealing wrinkle treatment." Filling and sealing sounds to me like something I want to hire a crew to do to my basement. The idea of shelling out good money for something that sounds like it ought to come with a complimentary trowel to apply it doesn't exactly give my ego a boost, either.
Strangely enough, when I should be considering the benefits of Botox, I've had braces put on my teeth. I was enormously self-conscious about it, particularly when I went to my first orthodontist appointment and sat in the waiting room with a bevy of middle-schoolers. A couple of weeks after I got them put on, a young friend of my son said to him in a shocked stage whisper, "Your mom has braces." I had to laugh as I watched my young son smile proudly at me; he thinks they are cool. I've gotten over my initial unease and now I hardly even notice they are there — until I get the occasional odd look.
I'm seeking that Zen place where I am accepting of who I am right now, the place where I will appreciate myself and be appreciated for the wisdom I have gained through my life experience. I imagine that true maturity is being able to let go of self-conscious judgments about my appearance. But I'm not there yet, so if you know of a really good product that will help to reduce those fine lines around my eyes, let me know.
Ellen Mary Carr writes from North Andover.
