Now that I am not such a “young” grandmother,” I resolve to accept my physical self for what I have become: laugh lines edge my eyes, I see a slight sag in my neck, and there is surely lots of gray under the auburn colored hair. My pieces and parts have re-distributed in such a way that I don’t recognize my body as my own. I need to accept that, not feel badly about it.
I hope I can accept the “invisibility” that comes with age and consider it liberating, not depressing. (You know how you hate it when a group of construction workers stare as you walk by and you feel them mentally undressing you? You’re gonna hate it more when they don’t.)