I’ve been mulling over this blog for a while now.

Today, I feel like finally putting it on paper. Today, this is how I feel about this topic. Tomorrow, I might have something different to say, but it would generally be the same. Today, I feel like telling you what I think about aging at this point in my existence.

Y’all. I’m 45 and I’m fine. I’m good. I have way more pros than cons right now, so I’m so good.

But sometimes, I see things in the media or I hear other people saying things about aging, or I have a bad day, and I’m not fine. I’m pissed. Because I truly believe that by the age of 45, I’ve earned the right to not give a damn about my (naturally) aging body.

I’ve been 18 and I’ve cared a LOT about looking cute for the boys. I’ve been 23 and cared a LOT about meeting a mate with whom to have babies. I’ve been 29 and 34 and had two babies and I’ve cared a LOT about losing that baby weight.

And now I’m 45 and am so grateful that God has given me that husband and those babies and this body that grew those babies and fed those babies. I have a job that I love and friends that I love and a supportive family. Can’t we just be happy with that?

Because sometimes, I feel that I’m physically not enough. I’m too fat, too out-of-shape, too saggy, too gravity-challenged, too grey, too creaky, too glasses-dependent, too tired, too imperfect. I’m not that skinny mom. I’m not a MILF. I’m not hot. I’m not enough.

You know what I am, though? I am 45 and have earned the right to be valued for my mind and my knowledge and my experience and the way I treat others. I would rather be judged on how well I do my job, how my children treat others, how well I put goodness into the world. Or how well I don’t. I don’t want to be hot. I don’t want to be a MILF, except to my own husband, who so far, loves me no matter what. I exercise and eat healthy because I want to feel good, not because I want to be a skinny mom.

I love being 45. I shouldn’t have to care about my ass or my crow’s feet. Simply by aging, I’ve earned the right to be my natural self and will happily leave the “being hot” to the young set. I am thrilled to pass the torch to the cute young things heading out into the world to meet their mate. And I extend my 45-year-old, wrinkled, freckle-y hand to anyone else who wants to join me here on the other side.