Recently, I had lunch with a group of ladies I’ve known for years. We were celebrating our dear, eternally youthful friend’s – lean over now, I’ll whisper it in your ear – 59th birthday. She does not look a day over 40 which is something I do not hold against her. Yes, that makes me some kind of saint.
I met the lovely birthday girl twenty-three years ago in Mommy & Me class. She was my first “mommy” friend and we’ve watched each other’s children grow and us, well, we’ve grown older too. She loves to remind me that I was just a baby back then. A baby with a baby, I like to say. That makes me feel a little younger. I’ll take what I can get.
Around the table our ages ranged from 48-59, of which I’m on the lower end, but not lowest (though I’m holding on to that like a pageant girls’ sash), so after catching up with the lives of our mostly grown kids, you can imagine conversation quickly moved to how our bodies have morphed over the years. Not just weight gain, but some seismic shifting too.
Years of diligently working out finally comes to a head with the fact that almost no matter what we do, at some point in our 50s our arms will start to go and get soft. Our middles too. Thighs? I won’t even discuss them. We eat less, exercise more, and yet it’s an uphill battle. Dammit. (Did I just say that that out loud?)
This made me sad…until the dessert came.
Chocolate and sparklers do that to me.
After indulging in the chocolatey goodness, we all agreed that getting older surely beats the alternative. And joked that maybe at the next birthday gathering we should have a plastic surgeon join us and each gal gets to fix one trouble spot.
Who can choose just one?!
All kidding aside, being able to laugh at nature’s little joke on us, in the company of old friends, is one of life’s great blessings.