My birthday is at the very end of August, so I’ve always been “the young one.” My friends turned each age months before I did, which was always pointed out — especially at ages like 16 and 21. My first boyfriend used my “young age” (two years younger) as an excuse to break my heart. So, yeah, age has always been a sensitive issue with me. I’ve always wanted to be older than I was. I always felt older than I was.
Yeah, I just turned 17…but…you know…
I’ve always been the young one.
And now? Now I’m still the young one — but in a completely different way.
Now I have years — decades, even — of separation from other moms, not just mere months. And even though I first felt insecure, isolated, from the difference, I’ve come to realize something:
As Noah gets older, goes off to school, gets involved in activities, I’ll almost always be among the youngest of moms. It’s something I’ll never, ever shake. But the older we get, the less old we want to become. Those “you’re so young!” comments will be less demeaning and more envy-driven. Of course we might still encounter the occasional mean-girl-turned-mean-mom who will target anything they can to tear us down — age is an easy target, let me tell you — but we’ll know the deal. We’ll know they’d give anything to be 27, 32, 41 again.
And, honestly, feeling youthful isn’t the worst thing in the world.