I really love my forties. That’s not to say this decade has been perfect. Life is still messy. There’s still plenty of drama. Things are consistently imperfect. But my forties have also a beautiful evolution, inside and out.
I peaked at age eight. Well, I thought so at the time. I dreaded growing out of childhood in the second grade, well before it was even over.
I had some independence, I knew who I was, and I knew I was having the best time of my life playing all day. I also knew, and I am not kidding, I never wanted to share my blanket with a husband and I most certainly did not want to grow up. I wanted to stay eight forever.
But I turned nine. The birthdays kept coming. I made it to adulthood. I never did share blankets with my husband. (It turns out he didn’t want to share either. Who knew you could have your own blankets?!) Most surprising to my eight-year-old self, I did enjoy being a grownup. Motherhood taught me how.
I knew pretty early in my son’s life that every new developmental stage he went through was my favorite. Each new stage was different and sometimes difficult, but each one essentially built on the previous ages and developments. I have felt such joy getting to watch him grow, develop, and learn through all those stages. There hasn’t been an age that I didn’t enjoy.
And today, after 16 of his years and 46 of my own, I realized that’s why I love my forties, and why I loved each age that came before. I’m just leveling up, building on the experience that comes with growing older, and appreciating the knowledge and skills, and self-awareness that comes with leveling up.
Each new age has built upon the ones that came before it. Being an adult doesn’t mean I have to lose or give up the wonder and play of childhood. With one eye on retaining my eight-year-old self’s sense of wonder and play and the other on living in the moment, I get to continue this evolution; I get to keep growing, developing, and learning in this thing called life.
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