Kicked out of the Young Club
I'm not sure how it happened. One minute I was a mommy with a bunch of little tykes. I regularly read parenting magazines and books and could tell you exactly at what age each of my kids got every tooth, when they sat, scooted, crawled, and had their first tastes of different foods. I lived and breathed the baby years.
Those years are gone, yes, but I'm still a mommy, right?
Okay, fine. I do throw my head back and cackle with glee when I push my grocery cart past the diaper aisle. No more of those. Bwa-hahahaha!
But apparently, I'm not really a mom anymore.
See, I signed up at a site that links to giveaways and deals for moms. (Note that it's not for "mommies." MOMS.) Right up my alley, right? I'm a mom. (I've got the strewn backpacks, mountains of laundry, and stretch marks to prove it.)
But then I started getting their e-mails.
Um, I have no need for a stroller anymore, thanks. Same goes for hair bands (you know, the kind bald baby girls wear)? Last time I bought those was probably 8 years ago. Onesies? Rattles? Baby quilts? Baby girl dresses? Infant car seats?
Are you kidding me? Since when does "baby years" mean "mother"? Giveaways for moms should also include stuff like poster boards in bulk for last-minute school reports, a gas card for all the taxi driving we do and maybe even a gift certificate to buy shoes so I can get a pair that both fit my son's honkin feet and the clothing budget. And a spa certificate.
Then I got kicked out of another club.
In my continual efforts to be frugal, I signed up at yet another site that links to bargains every day. But then I noticed on the site in big, bold letters that they cater to women in their twenties.
I didn't care at first. After all, my twenties weren't that long ago . . . I didn't think.
But then I did think.
And, um, I'm leaning toward 40. The target audience of that site was being potty-trained when I graduated high school. Ahem.
It's getting downright depressing, this age thing. On some surveys I've had to fill out lately, I'm in the next age bracket. You know, if you're 18-23 check this box, 24-29, check this one 30-34, that one.
I'm in the NEXT BOX. The one that says 35-40. That sounds so much older than 30-34. Or is it just me?
I had no problem turning 30. I was actually quite happy about it, because it felt like I might get a bit of validation. I look so stinking young for my age (stupid, baby-fat face) that people don't always take me seriously. I thought that maybe have that 3 in front of my age would help.
But now . . . being on the other side of my thirties, where you round UP to 40? Hmm. Not enjoying that so much.
Especially when it means I don't belong in the mommy club on one site and most certainly don't belong on the 20-something site.
Another sign I'm getting old? I don't recognize half the popular band names that are out right now. The Today show's summer concert series? American Idol guest stars? I don't know more than half of them. (Gaga who?)
That's pretty much the touchstone right there: not knowing the current music. Yep. What can I say? I'm a member of Generation X. That used to be a hip term. Now that X means all the things I used to be.
What a truly odd sensation.
On the other hand, I'm at a great stage. My kids are more fun now than they've ever been, and I can do things now writing-wise I couldn't before simply because my life doesn't revolve around nap times, feeding times, and pooping times. Oh, and I get to sleep through the night on a regular basis.
There's also the fact that I can look back at all the things I've learned since I was 20.
And you know, I don't think I'd want to go back there. 20 wasn't as bad as junior high, granted (few things could be worse than 8th grade), but today I know more about who I am and what life's about than I did 15 years ago.
I guess this aging thing isn't so bad. I just hope I look as gorgeous at 65 as my mom does now.
Now that I could totally handle.