...when you realize your children and your clothes are about the same age...

With so much discussion about turning 30 and so many (too many to link) of you having babies and such, it has drawn in sharp relief the inescapable fact that I am biologically old enough to have given birth to the whole lot of you. OK, well most of you anyway (the exceptions shall remain nameless, of course).

In any case, I usually try to avoid acting my age, but the effort has become futile of late. So today I'm coming out:

I'm 44 and I think I'm having a midlife crisis.

The good thing about this is that if you do the math, having a midlife crisis at 44 means you've still got a long way to keep going, baby.

Granted you all have entire decades ahead of you before you have to worry about this, but I still feel it's my duty to prepare you for what lies ahead, Forewarned is forearmed. Or something like that.


Here's a short guide to the upsides and the downsides of middle age:


Downsides first:

Midlife crises are a sexist phenomenon.

Cases in point:
Harrison Ford - ear piercing and practically adolescent (and anorexic) arm candy
Many men I know - motorcycles and/or new cars
Many men I don't know but about whom I've heard tell - new affairs.

Women I know - hysterectomies and estrogen therapy. We get squat I tell you!

I am invisible. A nonentity. Null and void. How, you may ask? Well, it took me almost a decade to get a clue, but it seems I've been dumped by the whole of coporate America. At least that nice boy who works at Bath & Body Works still seems to care about how I wield my buying power. Apple should too, thank you very much.

That's all for now. All the rest of the downsides are too depressing to mention.


But yes, there are upsides:

Apparently I am considered to be in a protected class. I like being protected. Well, mostly I like to joke with my half-my-age co-workers about my being in a protected class. Feigned shock amuses me. In truth, I'd like to hope I am competent enough to keep my job through my own merit, not my maturing age.

I am still not old enough to eat off the senior citizen menu at Denny's, Chuck-a-Rama or Sizzler. Trust me, this is a good thing. The other upside of this is that I am still young enough to have discerning enough taste that I only frequent restaurants that don't offer senior citizen discounts.

Kids are finally old enough I'm not changing diapers anymore. Parents are still young enough I haven't had to start changing theirs, either. 'Nuff said.

I can say out loud how much I love my minivan. Because I am so far beyond achieving hipness or coolness, it just doesn't matter any more. OK, it's true that some over-thirties really rock. And others are really cool. But it's not a universal truth or anything, so now I kind of feel the pressure is off. And I'm good with that.


Surprisingly, there are also a couple of aspects of middle age about which I am ambivalent.

Most of my kids are old enough to start having a social life. This means one of two things: Either my house is almost completely empty and my husband and our seven-year-old and I just look at each other and wonder what we do now. Or my house is packed full of teenage boys and/or pre-teen girls. This is generally a good thing, except when I worry about spending $45 on pizza that will disappear within mere seconds.

As I mentioned before, I'm oddly stuck in the no-woman's land of post-babies and pre-grandbabies. It may seem I should have less responsibilities, less worries. (Are you kidding me? I've got two teenage drivers!) But it's kind of lonely here.

I am an open book. It's bad enough I can't help but speak my mind, but as of late I apparently don't even have to open my mouth for someone to know exactly what I'm thinking, even when they'd rather not. It seems to be written all over my face. This is a bad thing when I deal with people who don't really want to know how I really feel. But it's kind of freeing at the same time. And it's probably a good thing as my memory starts to decline. At least I don't have to try to remember what I've said to whom.


Now, if only I could remember where I put my car keys . . .


But seriously, the purpose of this post is also for you, dear readers, to suggest some ways I should act out my midlife crisis. I'm not interested in following in the footsteps of Harrison Ford. It's so overdone. And besides, my ears have been pierced for ages. So get creative here and dream up something wildly exciting. The boys can't have all the fun.