Once a man passes the age of forty, society tends to think of him as suave, sophisticated, successful, distinguished. Unless he’s the kind of guy who says things like, “Hey, y’all, watch this!” or “Hold my beer!” They tend to be fun and cool, the kind of men who have boatloads of friends from all walks of life. There are a few other categories we could delve into, but for today’s purposes, these are the only examples that matter.
Why? Because standards are a lot different for women. Unless she’s a Sandra Bullock or Kate Beckinsale, society tends to look at women forty and older as just … ‘older.’
And it sucks. No one likes their worth – in the eyes of others – to be dependent on the year of their birth, but it still happens. And sometimes, when it comes to careers, it makes a huge difference.
But something is going on in my life that’s caused me to reflect on age discrimination … and I decided I don’t care who knows I’m a member of the over-forty-crowd because I’m too excited to keep it a secret anymore.
My baby is having her first baby in about eight weeks. That means if I want to share news and photos of this child, I need to come clean about it. And I definitely intend to do some bragging. And some serious spoiling.
To kick things off, we had her baby shower this past Saturday, hosted by her grandmother because a houseful of people in my zoo is never a good idea. What a lot of fun that was!
The food – her favorites: turkey and/or ham wraps, fruit salad, and green salad. Oh yeah. And the most important part – chips.
The important part of the party – besides the guests, of course (faces have been blurred to protect the identity of those who may not appreciate starring in one of my blog posts):
If you’re thinking there might have been a bit of a Winnie the Pooh theme going on. Maybe just a teensy, tiny little bit.
I almost forgot the cake, which I fully intended to make – and did. But it was gluten-free and both layers turned out to be about three-quarters of an inch thick. So I bought a sort of decorated cake. Just the scalloped edges and swirls (which turned out to be a major pain). I also bought two tubes of gel, since there was no point in mixing up homemade frosting for a bakery cake. Unfortunately, I had to cut the tip of the blue gel three times to uncover the opening so it just kind of wanted to blob out of the tube.
If you’re wondering whether we know what the baby is, wonder no more. We’re one-hundred percent sure there’s a fifty percent chance that it’s a girl. The little stinker gave the ultrasound technician a hard time when she tried to find out.
Anyway… That’s my big secret. I’m going to have a little grandbaby to spoil in about eight weeks. And whether it’s a Noah or an Aria, I can hardly wait to meet him or her! 😀