Editor’s Note: I love receiving reader comments, especially when they come from fellow bloggers. It’s a great way to meet fellow women at forty and learn about their life experiences. That’s exactly the case with Claire. Claire is a 40 something from Ireland who, in her early 40’s became a first time mom – or mam as the Irish call it. She shares her experiences on her website FortySomething First Time Mum. In this post, Claire shares with us her journey from not wanting to have kids and detesting the entire process to loving it and being very grateful for being a mum.

A Mum At Last

As you can guess from the title of this blog, I am a forty something first time mum. Or as we say here in Ireland ‘Mam’ or ‘Mammy’.

It can be a lonely business being a forty something first time mum. Many people of my age have older and even fully grown children. This was brought home to me at a mother and toddler group that I attended for a short while. The leader asked me if I was my two year old son’s ‘nana’ (grandmother)! I was horrified as I think I actually look pretty ok for my age (44). Maybe I have what is recently termed as ‘fatorexia’ and ‘age orexia’ because when I look in the mirror I see a fairly slim young one looking back at me!! I enjoyed the group but I left after a few weeks as it reminded me that I am indeed a bit of an oldie. Most of the other mothers and fathers were at least ten years younger than me!

Maybe you are wondering, if I am so worried about being an older mum, why I left it so late? The answer I will give now is I really do not know! The answer I would have given in my twenties and thirties about not having children would have been that I did not want to be poor, trapped and miserable. After all, that’s what had happened to my mother for part of her life, not to mention some of my peers who had children at a young age. And so, I spent my twenties and thirties in a partying haze, pushing kids to the bottom of my list. In fact, they really were not on my list at all!

Even when I married at age 34, I wasn’t that enamored of the idea. Luckily, my other half did not pressure me or seem to mind too much. In fact, he once said he thought I was too immature to have kids! The pot and the kettle come to mind in that regard! We both had good full time jobs and enjoyed going away, drinking and going out for meals. I didn’t believe in the biological clock either or that it would ever tick for me. What a shock I was in for!

At around age 38 , I suddenly started to take a big interest in my nieces and nephews. Although I loved them, I really couldn’t be bothered before. My brothers never asked me to babysit much and everyone said I preferred animals to kids! I guess, in hindsight, it would have seemed that way, but deep down I think I was just trying to avoid the whole issue. And issues about childbirth and parenthood I truly had. I couldn’t even bear to hear about childbirth or watch a scene on TV involving it. I felt it was a humiliating and degrading experience for the woman and that as usual the man got off scot free. It really scared me when I started to ogle babies in their prams, and wonder what it would be like to have a child of my own! What was happening to me? Had I been wrong about the biological clock because it sure seemed to have started ticking for me, however late!

I really started to feel I wanted a child and my husband felt the same. We tried, but unfortunately nothing happened except a miscarriage. I didn’t even realize that was what it was at the time so ignorant of all things of that ilk was I! As time went on and I hit the age of forty, I decided to forget about the whole idea. By that stage I felt that it was probably my own fault that I could not conceive. I had spent the best part of 38 years saying I did not want children. Now it seemed as if my body was responding in kind. I felt as if I had willed it into not wanting them either. I remember someone saying to me at that time, that since I was forty, I might as well face the fact I would never have kids. I was sad but decided to get on with life and not think about it. Parenthood is not the path for everyone and it is not in everyone’s life journey. I thought that was probably the case with me. I went part time in my day job and set up my own dog walking and pet sitting business and felt for the most part content with my life.

Then, out of the blue, at the age of 41, it happened! I was pregnant! And what’s more I was over three months gone before I even realized. I had lost track of my cycle because I had put it out of my mind. I was not sick and had no other symptoms. In fact, I felt great and had loads of energy. It was only when his nibs asked me if I had been keeping tabs on my cycle because he hadn’t heard me complaining about it for yonks, that it even crossed my mind. I was soooooooooo happy when the test came up positive. In fact, two tests and the one at the doctors came up positive, positive, positive!!

Other people were shocked and urged me to have all manner of tests done because of my age. I went for some private counseling just to be sure it was something we could handle. We then decided that we would forego the tests and just accept whatever and whoever was sent to us. I just knew then, that even if those tests had showed up any abnormalities we were ready for it. Thankfully, all was perfect and in November 2007 our beautiful son was born. It really was the best day of my life! Now I knew what people meant.

If I had known before what I found out that day and what I know now, I would have tried to have children a lot earlier. I realize now that even if it did cause me to be trapped, that having a child is a wonderful, beautiful blessing. In fact, parenthood has not trapped or frightened me in any way. So far, it is a bonus and an enhancement to my life and I think I can speak for my husband there too.

Since then, I have wanted another child really badly. I have a strong longing for that but I also wanted it for my little son. I would like him to have a sibling so that having older parents won’t be a burden to him in later life. Sadly, I had a miscarriage last year age 43 and it was devastating. We are so so so thankful for the child we have and I am so grateful my body clock ticked loudly and woke me up before it really was too late!

In my wildest dreams, I never thought I would become a forty something first time mum but here I am!!! Yippee!!

Claire Hegarty, lives in Dublin, Ireland with son, husband and 8 garden cats. She is on a career break from her job in Tourism and her petsitting business.  She is using the time to concentrate on parenting, blogging and following her dreams.

Christine Eclavea Mercer

In 2010, I will turn 40. I spent my twenties educating myself, growing up, working, and traveling. I did much of it badly. At 27, it finally occurred to me that if I ever wished to procreate I should find myself attracted to nice men, instead of the bad boys of my youth.  Else I would be childless forever, or a single parent.  I did not find either of those options agreeable.

My standards certainly changed in my thirties.  Before that I imagined success the way children do, that one must be the CEO, the President, the Astronaut, the Prima Ballerina. I was taught to aim high like the Air Force.

Children and family were an idea in my twenties, the thing that kept me from getting to work on time because I was stuck behind the school bus, or giving me a headache on the screaming baby flight.  They were the thing my mother nagged about at every phone conversation – the reason I stopped calling.

In 1998 the most backward wonderful thing happened:  I lost my job.  It was a window opening for me.  I left my jackass (now ex) husband.  And moved to Atlanta to be with my grandmother, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer.  By the time I arrived for good it was 1999.

I won’t bore you with the whole of it.  That’s the meat.  That, and the fact that I declared myself a person who liked men who are nice, and have the ability to stay in one location for more than the number of months between deployments by the military, transfers by the FBI, or sudden relocation by more sinister organizations that shall not be named.

Voila, new town, new decade, new me.  Mostly.  My damn driving record and total inability to drive 55 followed me.

My grandmother welcomed me with kisses on both cheeks, a lunch of grapes, cheese and baguette, and a jar of Nivea Daily Nourishing Cream.  She swore by the stuff and had been tucking it into my suitcase for about five years by then.  It was her secret skin recipe that was not at all secret.  My mother had rejected it.  And she was determined to pass it on.

I found it a bit heavy, except in January when the central heat sucks every last drop of moisture from the air.  But I kept it.  I gave away the extra jars to friends when they commented on her fabulous skin.  I always had four or five laying around.  I couldn’t refuse them.  She wouldn’t allow me to.  And anyway, I am not my mother.

Due to her insistence that I take the Nivea, and my very slow progress in using it up, I have donated countless jars of it to battered women’s shelters over the years.  All because I could not say no to my grandmother.  And she insisted that her skin was fabulous because of the Nivea and the good genes.

Around the time I turned 35, which is when my body went crazy in general, I started to use the Nivea for more months out of the year, all winter long instead of only January.  And now, at 39, I start using it when the temperature drops below 70 degrees and continue until April or May.  I suppose that when I’m 85, if I live that long and the Nivea is still being made I’ll be using it all year long.

I’ve replaced most commercial beauty products with preservative-free handmade goods.  Even things I thought would be too weirdly hippie smelling and creepy to use in their more natural forms, like shampoo bars and deodorant sans aluminum have appeared among my toiletries.  The Nivea lingers.

I’m not usually sentimental.  But I’m almost 40.  So I allow myself some sentimentality now.  I never imagined living this long.  And it’s these sentimental ideas that bind families together.  I never appreciated them before.

Both of my parents are long since passed.  And my grandmother died this year.  She spent years telling me things followed by the words, because eventually I die.

I’ve started telling DD to pay attention to things about family history, because eventually I die.  I’ve been told this is premature.  But on my mothers timeline I’ve got less than a decade left. (A fluke probably, but still.)

So I’m declaring these things for the record, the Nivea, my stupid ass mistakes, the fact that I no longer give a a shit if I’m ever the CEO or married to one, that being successfully married means being still married, and successful career means employed with a roof over your head.  Because eventually I die.

It isn’t so macabre, just practical.  DD is not even creeped out by it.  I’m passing on the crazy Frog sensibility.  And the Nivea.

Thanks to Christine for sharing her blog post with Women at Forty. You can read her original post on her blog, Frog in North Georgia.

Photo: Christine Eclavea Mercer

For many women approaching 40, the realization of one truth might be particularly hard to bear – If they wait until they meet ‘Mr. Right’ to have kids, they might be too old to have them. And while a chorus of well meaning individuals will offer up the very viable option of adoption, for those women who’ve always yearned for the experience of pregnancy and childbirth, adoption just doesn’t fulfill their desires. So, what’s a woman at or near 40 to do?

In The Back-up Plan,  Jennifer Lopez’ character spends a few minutes, legs in the air just after being inseminated with donor sperm, wondering if she’s made the right decision.  In real life though, the decisions aren’t that simple, and the consequences can  be far reaching. In her film, Single Choice: Many Lives, 38 year old Anne Catherine Hundhausen documents her personal journey into making that very decision. Throughout the film viewers are introduced to single women like Hundhausen, who’ve come face to face with making the choice. And unlike the movie, the questions, the doubts and the insecurities aren’t answered in two hours.

The film raises as many questions as it asks – questions that are relevant to many of us. What happens, for instance, in the case of a woman who becomes pregnant at 40 through artificial insemination only to learn that her son is autistic? And what happens to society as a whole when increasing numbers of children don’t know their fathers?

We want to hear your thoughts on this subject, especially if you’re a woman who finds herself having to make this difficult choice. Please share your thoughts (anonymously or not) in our comment section, or email us at contribute@womenatforty.com.

It’s a safe bet The Back-up Plan will never win an Oscar, but it was chock full of interesting topics just waiting for great women at forty conversations, including:

• Adopting plan-B for life when plan A doesn’t happen – We touched on that in yesterday’s post, A new take on the old back-up plan.
• How our biological clock shapes our views of children and family – Upon hearing that Zoe wants to have children, her best friend asks her incredulously, “do you want to see my vagina? I’ll show you my vagina!” Err…no thanks. And just last week Jillian Michaels set off alarms when she talked about not wanting to deal with the physical changes of motherhood. Many of you sounded off on her comments and we’ll share your thoughts.
• Single moms and the movie’s treatment of them – The single moms in the group seemed to resent Zoe finding a partner, and was it just me, or did they all seem a bit odd? And we’ll join the ongoing, and sometimes heated conversation about raising kids today without fathers.
• A world without penis partners – The movie’s term not ours – yes, well…we’ll tread lightly on that one, but the term was kind of catchy.
• The “elusive one” – aka a penis partner, but so much more…

You don’t have to wait until the posts air to express your views – we want to hear what you’ve got to say, so share your thoughts anytime in the comment section, email them to contribute@womenatforty.com or post them on our Facebook Fan Page.

Saw the movie

autism, ADD http://www.newsweek.com/id/237178/page/2

On dating:

OK, so is there a thin line between just friends and dating line at 40? Did it move from when we were in our 20s or 30s? There is this older guy who I enjoy spending time with – dinner, movies, chatting on the phone, etc. He insists that we’re not dating, but he won’t let 24 hours go by without “checking” in. Before you even ask, yes he’s the only guy that I’m spending time with (other guy friends don’t get 10% face time – mostly chat/email or cell buddies) and he says that he could never handle more than one female friend at a time. So back to what started this – just what crosses the line between just friends and dating?

On what’s sexy:

Sexy is knowing what to wear that compliments your best features – the tailoring of the suit/swagger of the sport attire, the style of the shoe, the line of the haircut, the moisturizer to use on the skin and the scent to top it off. All this speaks to knowing yourself and what you have to offer…. without spending more time in the mirror than me!

On motherhood – Does the bell toll for me:

I am nearing forty..within a few years. I’m one week away from divorcing my husband.. and we never had kids. For the 8 years we were married I wanted kids only about 10% of the time. I think it was the person I was married to. Something was just not right. After I separated from my husband I met a wonderful older man who was already a father to two grown boys and wow, he not only set off my biological clock, it went off like a TIME BOMB. Unfortunately that relationship didn’t last and I am alone again. The decision to have children or not has not been an easy one for me. In my very early twenties before I was married I became pregnant out of wedlock and had an abortion. I think about that a lot now, to be truthful. There is a lot of sadness that comes to me at times when I see a pregnant woman – I often wonder what it is like. Then I hear the stories of the midnight feedings, diaper changes gone wrong, exploding poo, and spitup and I think, hmm. I am not sure I can do that. I believe that the path of my life is slowly being revealed to me page by page. Hopefully one day I will be able to face the uncertainty and make a decision. Until then I am enjoying being able to do what I want, when I want. My hope is that a wonderful man will enter my life, we will fall in love, and perhaps, have a family.

Share your thoughts on motherhood, what is and isn’t sexy, and dating in the comment section or on our Facebook fan page.

Yesterday Rachel shared her views on motherhood. Today Grace offers her two cents, and her last two eggs…

Like Rachel, I’m heading down the road to forty, sans children. It’s interesting to note people’s reactions when they hear that I’m almost forty and have no kids. It ranges from complete surprise – I even had one clown ask me if I was sure I didn’t have any – to pity. I’ve actually seen the “bless her heart” look wash over people’s faces when I tell them I don’t have children. When I hit them with the next line “…and I’m not sure I want any” you could knock them over with a feather. I usually get that reaction from much older men (and some women) who can’t believe that I haven’t fulfilled the one thing they believe women were put on this earth to do. I can almost hear them saying “what a waste!”

I didn’t always hold the opinion that I’d never have kids. In fact as a teenager I did my senior service at Holy Name Hospital’s day care just so I could get the practice. As an adult, I’m the one rolling on the floor with the kids, playing silly games with them and generally having a ball. For a little while. After about the 23rd “do that again!” I’m good with the kid thing for about a month. When it occurred to me that with my own children it wouldn’t be that easy (or legal) to walk away, I started wondering if I was really cut out for this parenting thing. Then I got a dog and realized (to my own shame) that when he tailed me through the house from room to room and sat staring in my face blankly for hours, it kinda got on my nerves (yeah, just call me Oscar the Grouch.) With the dog, I’d throw a bone in the back yard, close the door behind him, get my freedom back for the next few hours and then be glad for his company again. Apparently you shouldn’t do that with small children.

At 39 1/2 I’ve become accustomed to being responsible for myself and myself alone. Some people say that’s selfish. I think it’s actually the opposite. I think being realistic about your age, your situation and circumstances, your strengths and weaknesses, despite the chorus of voices in society telling you that you should have a child, you should be married at your age, is actually a smart thing to do. I think, like Rachel does, that deciding not to have a child until or unless you meet a man who you know will make a great father, is a tough decision, but a wise one. I’ve always said, a man can be a lousy husband/boyfriend and still be a great father, but a bad father will never make a good husband or boyfriend. If he ignores, neglects, abuses or abandons his children, he’ll ignore, neglect, abuse and/or abandon his wife or girlfriend. Isn’t choosing your mate and the father of your children one of the most important decisions you’ll make in your life? Why then should you rush to do it just because you’re almost forty?

I think I probably have a couple of good eggs left. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone who’ll change my point of view about having children before the expiration date runs out (tick tock). But as my dog sits staring in my face for the cazillionth time today, willing me to do some Jedi dog mind reading tricks and understand his every need and desire, I’m thinking… eh, not so much.

Today Rachel touches on a topic that’s on the minds of many women at forty – motherhood. If you’re forty or almost there, and you’re not a mom, then people either want to know what’s wrong with you, or they want to know what’s really wrong with you. It seems as though it’s impossible for some people to wrap their minds around women who either choose to wait for the right man with whom to have children or decide that having children isn’t for them.  Rachel helps shed some light on the thinking behind those choices…

I’m nearing forty and I am unmarried and without children. It seems that almost daily I read about a 50+ aged woman who is pregnant or recently gave birth or I see toddlers with parents who look old enough to be their grandparents—which means the parents have to be at least 70 because with Botox, Restalyne and plastic surgery being so popular, only homeless people and hippies look their age anymore, right?

I always wanted to have children. From the moment I got my “Baby Alive” doll, fed her and changed her diaper, I felt maternal pangs and knew that I wanted to be called “Mommy” when I grew up. I became the neighborhood babysitter by 10 or 11 years old. Yes, I know that is illegal today, but back then children were allowed to be mature and independent so I helped with homework, heated up dinner and put younger kids to bed while their parents were out, for about $4 per hour.

I’m a somewhat traditional person and I believe in the institution of marriage and the idea of a two-parent household. No matter how good-looking, charming or successful a suitor was, I was always more concerned with what type of husband and father he would be. While looks, common interests and shared musical tastes may have gotten us to the point where he popped the question and offered the ring, only knowing that he would be a loving and responsible parent could seal the deal. More than one engagement was called-off once I saw a fiancé interact with a child.

My biological clock was on snooze for many, many years because I simply did not feel that any man I met or dated would make a suitable father. I had an idea of how tall he should be and what sort of physique and profession he should have, etc, but most important to me was what values he would instill in our children and how he would treat us as his family. Would he put our well-being ahead of a new 60-inch television? Would he be patient and kind with a confused little person? Would he refrain from screaming and cursing at me during heated moments because he knew he was setting an example for his children?

After many years and several relationships, there was still no alarm, no ticking sound emanating from my biological clock. I made sure it didn’t need to be wound or have the battery replaced, but everything was in fine working order. I just hadn’t found anyone who would set off the bells and whistles. I became godmother and “Auntie” to several of my friends’ children and reveled in the fact that I could enjoy the pleasures of quasi-parenting without having to change diapers, clean up vomit or watch Yo Gabba Gabba ad infinitum.

I learned not to be offended when rude people asked if there was something wrong with my reproductive organs or found it incredulous that an attractive and intelligent 30+ woman could be divorced, childless and not having a nervous breakdown or putting sperm banks on speed dial. I learned that many people do not share my ideals and values so while for them single-parenthood is an option, for me it is not. My child needs and deserves two parents because someone has to keep me from sliding off the rails and I know I can’t do that and raise a well-adjusted child by myself.

Somehow, over a period of time the maternal pangs subsided and I became content to have nieces, nephews, godchildren and random little brothers and sisters upon whom I could dote and with whom I could play. I could enjoy shopping for adorable baby clothes without increasing the inventory of my vast stretch mark collection. I could endure sleepless nights by choice and not due to midnight feedings, late-night thirst and under-bed checks for monsters. I could enjoy a varied palate that does not include chicken fingers, french fries or grilled cheese sandwiches and no one would need to drag out the Big Green Clean Machine after my meal. At some point in my thirties it became okay not to be a mother.

Ironically, I’ve been feeling pangs for the last few months. It seems that meeting THE right man will do that to you. But I have to be honest and pragmatic before making any rash or sentimental decisions… Neither of us is “young.” Would we have the energy, stamina and patience to become parents at this late stage in the game? Are we still selfless enough to put a child first, rather than ourselves—or have we passed that point of no return where we are past flexible adults and going full-steam ahead toward crotchety old folks? Only time and introspective reflection will tell, but in the meantime, I’m going to sleep as late as I’d like to this weekend, watch a couple of Rated R movies and walk around the house naked. It’ll either remind us of the joys of childlessness or perhaps contribute to the behavior that leads to becoming parents.

Rachel Dachel is a freelance writer and editor, and creator and author of the blog Rachel-y Motivated Incidents.

Alzheimer’s or CRS (Can’t Remember Sh*t)

I came to the conclusion several years ago that I would end up in a nursing home, babbling about the good old days.  I made my husband promise to wipe the drool from the corners of my mouth and make sure I didn’t look crazy.  I believed I was suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s because I was gradually losing my memory.  At first I blamed it on my pregnancy of my youngest daughter but that was 6 3/4 years ago and its gotten progressively worse.  I would forget my hair & nail appointments, forget to pickup dry cleaning, forget to make doctor’s appointments and call people.  Now, I know what you are thinking – WRITE IT DOWN, MAKE A LIST!  That’s the main problem -  I have always written everything down and plan my life with the Franklin Covey planning system that I have been using  since 1994.  I was only using it for work but about 4 years ago started using it for my personal affairs because  I had pissed many people off because of my forgetful ways.

In the last year it’s gotten so bad that I set reminders in my phone to alarm me every time I need to do something on my To Do list.  I said to myself “Self…you turned forty this year and you are falling apart.  You can’t remember sh*t (CRS).  Go get a CAT scan and see if you have early onset Alzheimer’s.  DONT FORGET!”  I went in for my annual checkup in April (which I almost forgot about but thank God they called me to confirm the day before) and explained my concerns to the doctor.  He asked my family history and ruled out Alzheimer’s.  He started asking me all sorts of silly questions and implied that I “needed to talk to someone.”  We all know what that means – it’s code for Rubber Room, Couch Time, Straight Jacket – the “other” doctor.  I guess I wasn’t getting the CAT scan.  He gave me the number to call and made me promise that I would (I did, but my fingers were crossed behind my back so it doesn’t count).

I debated if I would call the shrink and convinced myself that I wasn’t losing my mind.  However, in August that same year I double booked appointments!  I got the “where the hell are you” phone call while at the 2nd event.  I knew then that maybe I was going crazy and needed to talk to someone and convince the doctor I needed that CAT scan.  I called the number the next day and tried to schedule an appointment with the shrink.  We were on the phone for about 15 minutes trying to figure out when I would come in and then it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I hung up (I told her that I would call her back but it was a big, fat, juicy lie).  I went back over the last year of planning pages in my Franklin Covey (don’t laugh – a lot of people keep their old planning pages & calendars from years back) and a light bulb went on over my head.  My planning pages were filled with every appointment scheduled, every errand that needed to be done and every work related items that needed to be completed but EVERYTHING in those pages had to do with someone else!

Also each day was filled to capacity – all lines were filled!  My planner was filled with kid related events – Christmas concerts, kid doctor appointments, pee wee basketball practice, Girl Scouts, etc.  My personal schedule was not in there!

I immediately went to Starbucks (I think better with a latte), sat down with the planner & pages and thought about all the missed appointments and phone calls and late (and wrong) showings.  Everything missed was MY personal stuff.  How was it that everyone else’s stuff was in MY planner?  I was relieved that I didn’t have early onset Alzheimer’s but pissed that I let myself become last in my own plans.  When I turned  forty, I did an evaluation of my life and the people and things in it.  My schedule was the one thing I didn’t evaluate. I went through it with a fine tooth comb.  I discovered that as my girls have gotten older, their lives have gotten busier; almost as busy as mine.  They had taken over my life…and planner.  I had to take action and fix this problem.  So I sat there with my latte and a slice of lemon loaf (I also think better with desserts) and hashed out a plan.

The end result was that I simplified my schedule.  All kid events are written on a white board in the kitchen.  Every morning, at a glance I know what day what kid has PE, library, practices, dance, Girl Scouts and school activities.  MY planner contains only MY stuff.  I’m even trying to convert myself to fully utilize my Blackberry (hell, I pay enough for it so it should work for me) because I like my calendar alerts and easy internet access.  I haven’t missed anything or been late to anything in several months.  So in the end, I suffered from CRS but with a detailed diagnosis, a latte and a slice of cake, I cured myself.

Tanya

Tanya’s an “exceptional military wife and extraordinary mother of two who has rediscovered life, love and a new reality” at age forty.  She’s a friend and frequent contributor to Women at Forty.

Christine Eclavea Mercer

In 2010, I will turn 40. I spent my twenties educating myself, growing up, working, and traveling. I did much of it badly. At 27, it finally occurred to me that if I ever wished to procreate I should find myself attracted to nice men, instead of the bad boys of my youth.  Else I would be childless forever, or a single parent.  I did not find either of those options agreeable.

My standards certainly changed in my thirties.  Before that I imagined success the way children do, that one must be the CEO, the President, the Astronaut, the Prima Ballerina. I was taught to aim high like the Air Force.

Children and family were an idea in my twenties, the thing that kept me from getting to work on time because I was stuck behind the school bus, or giving me a headache on the screaming baby flight.  They were the thing my mother nagged about at every phone conversation – the reason I stopped calling.

In 1998 the most backward wonderful thing happened:  I lost my job.  It was a window opening for me.  I left my jackass (now ex) husband.  And moved to Atlanta to be with my grandmother, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer.  By the time I arrived for good it was 1999.

I won’t bore you with the whole of it.  That’s the meat.  That, and the fact that I declared myself a person who liked men who are nice, and have the ability to stay in one location for more than the number of months between deployments by the military, transfers by the FBI, or sudden relocation by more sinister organizations that shall not be named.

Voila, new town, new decade, new me.  Mostly.  My damn driving record and total inability to drive 55 followed me.

My grandmother welcomed me with kisses on both cheeks, a lunch of grapes, cheese and baguette, and a jar of Nivea Daily Nourishing Cream.  She swore by the stuff and had been tucking it into my suitcase for about five years by then.  It was her secret skin recipe that was not at all secret.  My mother had rejected it.  And she was determined to pass it on.

I found it a bit heavy, except in January when the central heat sucks every last drop of moisture from the air.  But I kept it.  I gave away the extra jars to friends when they commented on her fabulous skin.  I always had four or five laying around.  I couldn’t refuse them.  She wouldn’t allow me to.  And anyway, I am not my mother.

Due to her insistence that I take the Nivea, and my very slow progress in using it up, I have donated countless jars of it to battered women’s shelters over the years.  All because I could not say no to my grandmother.  And she insisted that her skin was fabulous because of the Nivea and the good genes.

Around the time I turned 35, which is when my body went crazy in general, I started to use the Nivea for more months out of the year, all winter long instead of only January.  And now, at 39, I start using it when the temperature drops below 70 degrees and continue until April or May.  I suppose that when I’m 85, if I live that long and the Nivea is still being made I’ll be using it all year long.

I’ve replaced most commercial beauty products with preservative-free handmade goods.  Even things I thought would be too weirdly hippie smelling and creepy to use in their more natural forms, like shampoo bars and deodorant sans aluminum have appeared among my toiletries.  The Nivea lingers.

I’m not usually sentimental.  But I’m almost 40.  So I allow myself some sentimentality now.  I never imagined living this long.  And it’s these sentimental ideas that bind families together.  I never appreciated them before.

Both of my parents are long since passed.  And my grandmother died this year.  She spent years telling me things followed by the words, because eventually I die.

I’ve started telling DD to pay attention to things about family history, because eventually I die.  I’ve been told this is premature.  But on my mothers timeline I’ve got less than a decade left. (A fluke probably, but still.)

So I’m declaring these things for the record, the Nivea, my stupid ass mistakes, the fact that I no longer give a a shit if I’m ever the CEO or married to one, that being successfully married means being still married, and successful career means employed with a roof over your head.  Because eventually I die.

It isn’t so macabre, just practical.  DD is not even creeped out by it.  I’m passing on the crazy Frog sensibility.  And the Nivea.

Thanks to Christine for sharing her blog post with Women at Forty. You can read her original post on her blog, Frog in North Georgia.

Photo: Christine Eclavea Mercer

1. Older brothers, although loud, sweaty and annoying, will protect your honor, pave the way for you with your parents and one day become the men of whom you are more proud than you can express.
2. When your grandparents smother you with kisses and hugs and fawn all over you… When your maternal grandmother crochets sweaters, scarves and blankets for you and your paternal grandmother teaches you to bake coconut cakes and takes you shopping at Bamberger’s… When your grandpa takes you fishing on the Vineyard and your Pop introduces you to the music of Miles Davis, Benny Goodman and Dave Brubeck… When they tell you the stories of your familial history and remind you how important it is to act with integrity and the value of your reputation—CHERISH those moments! You’ll find those moments comforting for the rest of your life and you will be eternally grateful for having had the privilege of knowing such interesting and honorable people.
3. Define yourself; don’t let others do it for you. I assure you that in 10, 15, 20 years and beyond, you won’t really care who thinks you aren’t black enough or that you talk too properly or that you must be stuck-up because you don’t want to go to the party. In your 30s, you will not remember their names—until they request to friend you on Facebook and you end up having to de-friend them or put them on privacy lock-down because they are entirely too interested in the minutia of your life.
4. Enjoy carefree summers on Fire Island or the Vineyard while you can! Soon, between global warming, UV rays and obnoxious tourists, the summer sanctuary of your childhood will become a very, very different place. Enjoy digging for sand crabs and poking jellyfish with a stick as they will become stories of legend you will tell your children, nieces and nephews.
5. Know the difference between friends and acquaintances. Acquaintances are people you know, you speak to regularly and you hang out with occasionally. Friends are people who know you—warts and all. You might speak to them regularly, but even if you don’t, you pick up where you left off as though no time has passed. Every truly great time in your life included or was the result of one of your true friends. Oh—VERY important: relatives can be some of your best friends ever.
6. Trust your heart. When you get a bad feeling and something doesn’t sit well with you, go with it. Walk away knowing that your instincts are correct. Also, trust your heart when you walk into a room and meet someone whose presence makes your heart flutter and gives you a sense of calm at the same time. Trust your heart and believe in love and the fact that you deserve someone wonderful, honest, intelligent, funny, strong, honorable and handsome to boot!
7. Be more of afraid of “I wonder what would’ve happened if I had…?” than “Oh… So THAT’S what happens!” It’s easier for me to know that I’ve made a mistake and learned from it than to constantly wonder what might have been.
8. Beware Greeks bearing gifts—especially if the gift is an engagement ring and you know you have no business marrying this man and that the past several years together were made possible—in no small part—by plenty of ouzo and the bribery of his mother’s baklava.
9. Give yourself a break! As long as you are still breathing and can walk and dig a whole, tomorrow is another opportunity to learn from, fix—or in some cases hide the mistakes you’ve already made.
10. Do not believe that life in the year 2000 will be anything like “The Jetsons.” There will be no flying cars or robotic maids. The only moving sidewalks will be in airports and will largely be used to transport the laziest herds of sheeple from the Starbucks at Gate 3 to the Starbucks at Gate 5.
11. Learn to laugh at yourself! If you cannot laugh at yourself then you really shouldn’t be laughing at anyone else. Be solemn and serious when you have to be, but enjoy the rest of life!
12. Remember your first kiss and your first real crush! Save stupid things like the Pink Panther shorts you stole from him or the tissue he gave you when he wiped the tears from your eyes as you parted and said “À bientôt!” Years later you will laugh hysterically when you find the tissue in a ZipLoc bag and he will be flattered when you meet again and have his long lost shorts.
13. Surround yourself with brilliant, beautiful, spiritual, kind, loving and forgiving people. Other people are not worth your time and effort and these people will contribute to your life in immeasurable ways.

Photo: Rachel (about 1 1/2 years old) and her brother Roland