One week ago, I turned 35- an age I used to consider old. My mother had me when she was 30 years old, and I've always told people, "She had me when she was older." Funny how that feels different when those shoes are on my feet.
At 35, you're supposed to be mature, have scars to show for all your growing up, dig for gray hairs and pull them out quick before anyone notices them, and pull on your skin to see if plastic surgery really could get rid of those bags. It's a natural progression of life. And it's the reason that people are always trying to sell anti-aging cream to us!
As I struggle to raise four kids, I see that the world is sending them an entirely different message... not a message of "Reverse the effects of aging." But a message of "Grow up, and do it quickly." It's a heartbreaking, confusing message for our babies who just want to be little.
Each night I watch four kids hop in baths and hop out... some actually climb in and out against the wishes of their mother. All four are at different stages of life. Some standing outside the doors of puberty, using deodorant for the first time, and probably questioning everything about his eleven year old body. Some with long, gangly legs that are not quite proportionate to his skinny little body. Some wearing cellulite bottoms, adorned with rolls, and not worrying about how they look in their jeans yet or really caring if they have clothes on, for that matter!
But the world we live in is begging them to grow up. It sends out advertisements for bikinis that will fit my 14 month old daughter. It wants me to dress her as though her sweet, squishy little body should revealed like that of a Victoria's Secret supermodel. It longs for my eleven year old to accidentally venture into pornography and camp out there as he matures. It looks down upon the days where it was funny to watch Wile E. Coyote attempt to catch the Road Runner and replaces it with cartoons loaded with adult humor and topics that my eleven and seven year old just aren't ready to tackle.
Some call it "sheltering them" but I call it "allowing them to be little." It's over so fast. The days where your greatest worry is which cereal to choose. The days where your most difficult job is making your bed. The days where your parents are there to help you make even the simplest decisions each day and there to catch you when your fall.
My favorite days are when my boys pretend and dress up, play late into the night on the trampoline, and belly laugh at the games they've made up that I don't understand. And as much as I want them to stay innocent and small, I often let the world impact my actions. Those contrary words come out of my mouth... "Please act your age." "Please don't act like a baby." "How old are you again?" My mother once gave me some wise advice: "Let them decide when they're too big for _________." Does that mean one day my eleven year old will give up the occasional opportunity to dress up for fun? Absolutely. Does that mean my seven year old will one day quit carrying around the blanket that he sleeps with every single night? For sure. Can I assume that one day my babies will give up pacifiers, naps, sippy cups, and diapers? All in due time, my friends. Those wet, sloppy kisses straight on the mouth, the days of crawling up in your lap, and the days that they sit at your feet while you take your one bathroom break will all go, too.
Perhaps, one day they'll pull out their wedding album for their children to look through. And they'll laugh at some of their physical changes and cringe at others. But I hope that as they age, they'll have fond memories of their childhood. The days where we made rules about which TV channels they could watch. The days where we urged them to play outside and to turn off devices. The days where we ate dinner every evening together and talked to each other between bites. The days where they made sweet, sweet memories because we let them be little!
This week, I pulled out my wedding album to show the boys that their daddy did in fact have hair once. Jason and I enjoyed laughing and comparing our bodies then and now. I chatted back and forth with my childhood best friend about it late that evening... wondering why my cheeks were so full, noticing that there were no bags under my eyes, and that much had changed in those 15 years. I'm aging. And that's okay. It's better than the alternative, right?
At 35, you're supposed to be mature, have scars to show for all your growing up, dig for gray hairs and pull them out quick before anyone notices them, and pull on your skin to see if plastic surgery really could get rid of those bags. It's a natural progression of life. And it's the reason that people are always trying to sell anti-aging cream to us!
As I struggle to raise four kids, I see that the world is sending them an entirely different message... not a message of "Reverse the effects of aging." But a message of "Grow up, and do it quickly." It's a heartbreaking, confusing message for our babies who just want to be little.
Each night I watch four kids hop in baths and hop out... some actually climb in and out against the wishes of their mother. All four are at different stages of life. Some standing outside the doors of puberty, using deodorant for the first time, and probably questioning everything about his eleven year old body. Some with long, gangly legs that are not quite proportionate to his skinny little body. Some wearing cellulite bottoms, adorned with rolls, and not worrying about how they look in their jeans yet or really caring if they have clothes on, for that matter!
But the world we live in is begging them to grow up. It sends out advertisements for bikinis that will fit my 14 month old daughter. It wants me to dress her as though her sweet, squishy little body should revealed like that of a Victoria's Secret supermodel. It longs for my eleven year old to accidentally venture into pornography and camp out there as he matures. It looks down upon the days where it was funny to watch Wile E. Coyote attempt to catch the Road Runner and replaces it with cartoons loaded with adult humor and topics that my eleven and seven year old just aren't ready to tackle.
Some call it "sheltering them" but I call it "allowing them to be little." It's over so fast. The days where your greatest worry is which cereal to choose. The days where your most difficult job is making your bed. The days where your parents are there to help you make even the simplest decisions each day and there to catch you when your fall.
My favorite days are when my boys pretend and dress up, play late into the night on the trampoline, and belly laugh at the games they've made up that I don't understand. And as much as I want them to stay innocent and small, I often let the world impact my actions. Those contrary words come out of my mouth... "Please act your age." "Please don't act like a baby." "How old are you again?" My mother once gave me some wise advice: "Let them decide when they're too big for _________." Does that mean one day my eleven year old will give up the occasional opportunity to dress up for fun? Absolutely. Does that mean my seven year old will one day quit carrying around the blanket that he sleeps with every single night? For sure. Can I assume that one day my babies will give up pacifiers, naps, sippy cups, and diapers? All in due time, my friends. Those wet, sloppy kisses straight on the mouth, the days of crawling up in your lap, and the days that they sit at your feet while you take your one bathroom break will all go, too.
Perhaps, one day they'll pull out their wedding album for their children to look through. And they'll laugh at some of their physical changes and cringe at others. But I hope that as they age, they'll have fond memories of their childhood. The days where we made rules about which TV channels they could watch. The days where we urged them to play outside and to turn off devices. The days where we ate dinner every evening together and talked to each other between bites. The days where they made sweet, sweet memories because we let them be little!
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