Cougar Moms Unite

At dinner tonight, with Becks taking Daddy's former position at the head of the table, without the high-chair tray, his little mouth just barely at plate-level, Izzy is chattering away. Oh, how I wish I cared so little about food that I talked and talked until it got cold, then I'd be skinny as her, the little rail. So, I attempt to engage in a convo with C when we get a little window. BIG mistake, people, after your kid is about four, to ever think they aren't listening to and soaking up every. single. word. you say (I used the blogger periods!:). Because they are.

I said something about, "...and we're just too old for that, right?"
"Mommy! I don't want you to get old!" Izzy chirps in.
C and I look at each other? "Eh?" I didn't even know what I'd said for a minute.
"I don't want Daddy to either."
"Oh, well it'll be a really long time before we do." not long enough
"Because we eat these salads every day and don't smoke cigarettes." Chris added.
"So like never? You won't get all wrinkly?"
"Well not til we're grandparents and stuff."

What do you say to a kid? "Age is a state of mind," or something like that? It brought me back to 1977, when I was sitting on my mom's lap at our dining table, and she alluded to the fact that she was 45. I was apparently about ten years behind on her age, and besides, she looked ten years younger than she was. Still does. "You're forty-five?" I freaked. "But I don't want you to die!" I had thought she was 35, I guess, not knowing she gave birth to me at age 39. I was five, after all.

Back in the 70s, my parents were the oldest ones, and all the other parents, and their friends were at least a decade younger than them. What's interesting is that, these days, parents having children after 35 is fast becoming the norm, so I guess it will all even out in the future. Of my friends, I'm basically the median age of Mommies, with the youngest being 29 and the oldest around 40. I don't really speak of age to Izzy, though (altho I do on this blog a lot lately), except when I'm all, "Your poor old mommy has to get down on her hands and knees and clean up your messes" to lay a guilt trip on them for throwing food everywhere. "You're not old," she laughs back. And when she has asked in the past, I told her Mommy's 25 and Daddy's 35. I never give her a straight answer, and I think it's because don't want to freak her out like I was at five. I know I'm not an old mommy, but to a five year old, 36 could be, who knows? I guess I should start playing it straight, before she starts doing the math, which could be any day now.

Although I never heard my mom talk about age, and she wore her short shorts, and she had the most beautful skin - I swear the woman never got a wrinkle until her 60s - I have let age limit me in my life. I remember thinking, in my early 20s, how I wanted to take off to act or sing or maybe just move away, anything crazy, but it was too late. I was too old. I had missed my boat.

I continue to have those thoughts, but the older I've gotten, the less I've let them rule me. Now I fight them. Old is definitely a relative term. I don't want my kids to grow up restricted by a bunch of superficial rules, so I hope I can do it gracefully, and, yes, honestly, which also means breaking it to her that Mommy is a certified Cougar. Me, Cami Diaz, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer (GO JEN!), all of 'em, Cougs. I'm in good company.

(p.s: if you know the correct and specific rules on the age limits and differences re: Cougars, please share. Ie:, is a two year age difference enough to warrant the term, or must if be five? Seven? I'd hate to misuse this very important terminology created by VH-1.)

Future GILF,
~R