This is mid-30s.

E&LLadies, grab a strong drink. I’d venture to say mid-30s are some of the scariest times for an American woman. Not to be compared with the struggles and strife of an Afghani or Sudanese woman – our struggles are certainly safer, and much of our creation – but significant nonetheless.

I went to a party this weekend with a friend who wore a shrug to cover what she refers to as “vagina arm,” a surefire sign of aging, as she put it, and was lovingly told as a child. This happens to be the spot where extra underarm skin might hang. We laughed about it, but we have friends where age or any sign of aging is such a sensitive topic, you’d got to be cra-zee to bring it up.

Look, mid-30s can be great. Are you in great relationship? If you envisioned having a family, is it coming to fruition? How is your career? Have you figured out what you want to be yet? Have you moved into the corner office with the window yet? Have you responded “YES” to at least 50% of what I just listed? Are you freaking out yet? I warned you to get a drink. Did I not?

Sasha has a couple of single friends that I happen to adore, all around my age. So of course, when I see them the topic of finding a spouse comes up. One constant theme, they ain’t looking for a woman my age! While I understand men are biologically programmed to spread their seed and in doing so they are programmed to be attracted to a woman at peak fertility (early 20s I suppose), for some reason I am slightly offended that my age puts me in the category of undesirable. Of course, this has nothing to do with me, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a certain sensitivity, a little stab at my self-esteem. Take the time one of them came for dinner and described his ex-girlfriend as being (slightly younger than me) with “the body of an 18-year old.” In my mind, I’m thankful that he is comfortable enough to share this stuff with me. On the other hand, I’m wondering where the closest kitchen knife is. I’ve given birth. This isn’t fair.

What can I say guys? It’s not just the physical components. This age is like a ticking time bomb. Women are expecting major life things to happen now, or by now, and if things aren’t happening, will they ever? It’s tough. It’s scary!

Okay, what’s the consolation? I was 21 once. I’m 34 now. No one is young forever. The alternative is too sad.  May we all be so lucky to get older, and old. Life gets better. I know myself better every year. I’m happier every year. I even make new friends every year. I’m older and wiser every year.

And you know what? Even at the ripe old age of 34, I can still go to my best friend’s house, raid her mom’s refrigerator, and laugh about it on Facebook. Forever young.

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