Day 416: On my way over the hill

It’s official: I am old. Or at least well on my way to being old. How do I know this? Well, there are many reasons, but the one that has inspired this post is that while putting on my lip gloss yesterday – my make-up ritual has dwindled to a single coat of pink gloss since having Maddie – I saw a grey hair. And then another. And another. And another, until I finally had to stop looking. From now on I will not be colouring my hair out of vanity and boredom, but necessity!

There’ve been hints over the past several years that perhaps I am not in the glory of my youth. I am no longer the youngest person in the office, for instance; okay, fine, I am nowhere close to being the youngest. People ask me what I did on the weekend and the answer inevitably involves a detailed account of a trip to Home Depot. When shopping for panties I pay less attention to the frilly bits than to the support of the tummy panel. I catch myself saying things like, “Dairy just doesn’t agree with my system anymore.” I bought a new bag this weekend and instead of looking for one big enough for a lipstick, a Visa and a condom, I was wondering, “Would the sippy cup and an extra diaper fit in this?” I suppose I should be grateful it was Maddie’s diaper I was having to consider and not my own.

I look back and try to pinpoint when this transformation first began. I suspect it started before Maddie came along, although I am pretty sure she’s accelerated the process. Was it when I got married? When we bought our first house? Was it that first pair of control top pantyhose?

It is disturbing in many ways, there is no question about that. But as I was lathering on my $25-a-jar anti-wrinkle moisturizer this morning I came to see that maybe this aging business ain’t all bad. Not to sound too much like Oprah – we get compared all the time, she and I – but there is a certain confidence and calm that grows as you get older. It’s funny that while young girls have the thin thighs and the glow of youth, they’re the ones tortured by self-doubt and insecurity. Somehow, with my post-baby belly and unkempt hair I feel better about myself now than I ever have before. That’s not to say there isn’t room for improvement, just that there’s also room to admit that while things could always be better, they’re pretty good just the way they are.