i never thought i’d be 40. i mean, who does? it’s not like we’re in the prime of our 20s, dreaming of the day we’ll be middle-aged. it kind of sneaks up on you. add to that, i’m a full time working single mom raising 2 girls on my own. i work in TV, which means i spend my days with cool, creative people but it also means i never know where my next job is coming from. i juggle gymnastics classes with birthday parties and i rely on favours, friends and family to help me raise my daughters.
dare i talk about my love life? dating in your 40s is a special kind of fun. and by fun, i mean the exact opposite of that. i tend to get asked out by guys in their 30s – job hazard – and i suspect i should consider it a compliment but it usually ends with “i’m not looking for anything serious” or “i actually didn’t think the age difference would bother me…”
i am starting to see fine lines, my grey is officially winning the war, and do you remember that episode of SATC when samantha slept with the old guy and was mortified by his saggy ass in the light of day? let’s just say, i have jump-started my squats routine after recently catching glimpse of my backside in the mirror.
i know what you’re thinking… i’m really blowin’ life out of the water over here.
aside from the mom and droopy bum thing, i like to think i haven’t changed all that much from the girl i was in my 20s. i still love to dance in my skivvies, wear patchouli and have a thousand questions about love, life and what the hell i’m doing with it. but something definitely switches when you hit your 40s. i don’t consider myself overly settled, but i inherited a kind of comfortableness that didn’t exist back then. in every decade, there is a learning curve and as much as that is unbelievably scary for someone getting older, there is also less pressure to, well, care.
for all of the unexpected snags, the 40s also bring a certain kind of worry-free attitude. i am far less concerned about the 30 year old guy who decided i’m too old for him to date long term, than i ever would have been, even 5 years ago. that kind of dumping would have sent me straight to therapy. now it’s a hilarious anecdote at girl’s night. i best not forget my cane.
don’t even get me started on parenting. seriously? there’s not a guidebook? a rules book? any kind of book that would help erase the mountains of guilt that we accumulate on a daily basis? it’s criminal. i worry about being around too much, not being around enough, what i’m doing, what i’m not doing, whether they are growing in all the right ways and whether or not i’m even close to being qualified to raise these two human beings. but they’re funny. and nice. and they are every reflection of me combined with their own personal sparkle and somehow, that just makes it all ok.
so… this is it. this is the stuff. for every new bump in the road, every hilarious mishap and every parenting debacle being thrown my way, i can only ask… this is 40? this is what happens? it’s not all figured out and packaged up with a pretty little bow? i’m not mature? i swore i’d be mature by now.
but if this is what it is, then thank goodness. seems navigating my way through it, is the best and only option. i’ll keep asking the questions and skipping over the answers i don’t like. just like any proper grown-up would do.