about midlife

I have a friend who started referring to herself (and, by extension, me, since we were both born in the same year) as "middle-aged" when we were in our mid-thirties. I bristled at the label. I was still very much a young adult in my own mind--just out of grad school, starting a new job, having a baby. (I had my first at 28, second at 35.) So I didn't feel middle-aged at all.

And when friends would moan about the pains of middle age: creaky joints, slowed reflexes, greying hair, weakening eyes--I didn't join in. Having never been an athlete as a child, I got into fairly decent shape in my thirties. I was strong, from lifting babies and working out. My reflexes got quicker when I had to chase a two-year-old. I colored my hair and didn't care about the grey. I'd worn glasses since age eight, gone to contacts at 18, and added reading glasses in my late twenties, so I didn't notice much change in my eyesight, either.

So I didn't worry much about middle age.

This year I realized I'm in the middle of my life as a hands-on mom. If you figure 18 years per kid, with some overlap, I've got 13 years down and 13 to go. So I'm in midlife that way, at least.

Oh, yeah, and I'm losing my hair.