It's No Longer Cute
What if growing older was more of a celebration and less about maintaining youth?
My son giggled as he reached for the monkey next to him. It was his favorite stuffed animal when he was a year old. It was no bigger than a ruler, the perfect size for his tiny hands. The endless diaper changes and sleepless nights didn’t matter because the big smile on his face lit up a room and he seemed to be growing up so fast. I wanted to freeze time.
Over the years we celebrated his first steps, his first haircut, the first wiggly tooth, the first day of kindergarten, and the first time he rode a bike by himself. We met all the many other milestones with a sense of pride and accomplishment.
He’s a teenager now and we still have many “firsts” to look forward to - his first day of high school, the first time he drives a car, and his first summer job.
The big smile on his face is still the same. I see it when he’s playing soccer, hanging out with his friends, and just having fun being a kid.
It’s funny, though, how growing up is perceived as we age.
I was getting ready for work this morning and noticed I suddenly have too many gray hairs to count. There’s no longer just a handful. I make this observation as I’m rubbing anti-aging lotion on my face hoping it would work. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll give it some more time, I thought.
As I continue to have birthdays, it feels like less of a celebration of growing up and more like I need to hide things - the wrinkles that are getting deeper, the gray hairs that are sprouting more quickly these days, and the sagging. Let’s not talk about that. It’s not cute.
I blow out the candles on my cake thinking, how lucky am I that I get to grow older? But I admit to sometimes wanting to hide all the things that come with it. And society helps us. The hair products for your grays and the lotions, potions, and creams. The products seem endless.
What if growing older was more of a celebration and less about maintaining youth? Of course, I think it’s important to feel good about the way you look no matter your age. But it just feels different as I grow older.
As I reach for my son’s hand, it’s a lot bigger now that he’s 13. I pull him in for a hug. He’s growing up and looking more handsome by the day. Even though I’m growing older, I look forward to the many memories we have yet to make.
If you enjoyed this essay, you might also like:
Anna
