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by Sharon D. Vermont
When my second daughter Jordyn was born seven years ago, I decided to leave the excitement of my pediatric practice and join what I referred to as “the world of overeducated stay-at-home moms.” We went to playgroups with former teachers, lawyers, accountants, and business women who, like I, had chosen diapers bags over briefcases. And I never regretted my decision — not even for a second. In fact, I found I loved being with my children so much I really thought I never would go back to work ever again.
Then, slowly, my children grew up a bit, and they were spending more time at preschool and less time with me. So, I started filling in for other pediatricians when they were out of the office for vacation or maternity leave. I was basically the substitute teacher of pediatrics, and it was a wonderful part-time job where I could always control my days and my hours. Dance class and school events won over work every time. And I still considered myself a stay-at-home mother, just with a twist.
Yet, this year, both of my girls suddenly were in school full-time and I found myself with a lot of empty hours with nothing to do. Sure, there was always Wal-Mart runs and grocery shopping. But by 10 a.m., I noticed myself getting just a bit bored. So, I started having coffee and lunch with friends —a lot. And, then, of course, the gym was right down the street. Still, being at home had lost some of its flair.
I really missed the days of playgroups and toddler gym classes. I longed for leisurely — or not so leisurely — trips to the park with other moms and their kids. I wanted to spend my time with someone who needed me.
And, so, I got a puppy.
And I love my little doggie more than I could ever describe. However, my life still missed something.
So, last week, I took the enormous leap back into the world of working professionals. I joined a pediatric practice as a part-time doctor, working two days per week. At first, I was very scared of the prospect of having to be at the same place on the same days every week. My life simply hadn’t been this structured in close to a decade. Yet, I forced myself to get past my fear and jump in head first.
And guess what? I’m so very happy that I did. For two weeks now, I’ve dressed up and gone to work, curing the St. Louis children of their various ailments. I’m active and productive, and it feels really good.
Then, the rest of the week, I’m around to take my girls to their various play dates activities, and appointments. I now have the best of both worlds — and the cutest puppy ever as a bonus!
Recently, I turned 40. Yes, I entered the decade of peri-menopause and anti-wrinkle cream and joined the ranks of all those middle-aged women who came before me. I am now, officially, old.
Those approaching the AARP years have laughed at me when they’ve heard me moan about my age. And, I suppose, that “old” doesn’t actually describe me. Still, I sometimes wake up stiff; my husband says I snore; and my back hurts when I vacuum. So, what can I say? I’m certainly not in my prime; that’s for sure.
Yet, I am all too frequently reminded of how lucky I am simply to be alive, something that quickly makes me feel terrible I’m even concerned with how I’ve aged. I’ve lost two friends this year, tragically, and two others in my life are dealing with cancer. In my professional life as a pediatrician, I recently diagnosed a young girl with Hodgkin’s disease, and I’ve seen terrible illnesses take the lives of innocent babies.
I, on the other hand, am healthy and active. My daughters are succeeding socially and academically, and my husband of 15 years still loves me like he did on our wedding day. Thus, why in the world do I feel the need to complain about having been born four decades ago?
The answer is fairly simple: I complain because I can and because everyone around me does the same. When I listen to the radio, almost every commercial seems to address this whole idea of aging and vanity. After 10 minutes of hearing my favorite radio morning show each day, I am chock full of information on weight loss, laser hair removal, Lasik vision correction surgery and day spas that promise everything from ugly vein removal to magic erasure of my cellulite. No wonder most of us past 35 have a complex! The media tells us that we need to spend thousands of dollars fixing our imperfections.
Hmmmmm……….
I constantly must remind myself that a few extra pounds, a bit of unwanted hair and an occasional varicose vein can’t actually affect my life. What will affect my life, however, is the negativity I feel listening to the media tell me I’m not okay. From now on, I’m turning off those stupid commercials!
I must remind myself on a regular basis that I’m blessed with family, friends and lots of successes, despite the fact I’m no longer a size two.
Age is just a number — as is my dress size. And a number can’t hurt us, I promise! I feel good. And I feel happy. Isn’t that what really counts?
So, for all you women out there who think you’re “40 and Fat” or “40 and Frumpy,” remember, no matter what the radio tells you, you are actually “40 and Fabulous!”
I just hope I’ll still feel this way when I really am old enough to join AARP!
by Sharon Dunski Vermont
Not long ago, a friend told me that I am very much like an onion. Constantly gleaning new information about my life, she feels as though she’s slowly peeling me apart one layer at a time.
Although I suppose that analogy may be somewhat accurate, I prefer to think about my life more like a pie that, once cut, is divided into lots of different yet savory little pieces. How I choose to cut my pie at any given moment determines whether my life has a sense of chaos or one of balance. Though I’m certainly not always successful, I desperately strive to achieve the latter on a regular basis.
I have found through some very serious soul searching and some very expensive therapy I am happiest when I’m busy and on the go. Pathologic or not, it’s who I am. Hence, I often find myself juggling my work as a pediatrician with caring for my kids and finding time to make my writing deadlines sometime in between it all.
Yet, somehow, my family seems happy most of the time. So I guess I must be doing something right, despite all the craziness.
Fortunately, no matter how complicated and confused my life can get, at the end of the day there is always one place where I consistently feel happy, safe and secure. Snuggled up with my two daughters each night before bedtime, I am keenly aware of all that is truly important. It is during those last few moments of wakefulness when my girls and I find ourselves bonding the most. Between yawns and stretches, my children share with me their deepest secrets, their most honest emotions, and the most wonderful hugs a mother could ever hope for. I’ve never understood exactly what it is about night time that brings out the most beautiful side of people. But, each evening as my daughters lay in bed, struggling to stay awake, I see them for the amazing young ladies that they are becoming. I wouldn’t trade those last few moments of each day for anything in the world.
Each morning as the sun rises and the bedlam begins all over again, I remind myself of the calm and peace I felt the night before. Yet, as the memory of that quiet time fades amidst the noise and chaos of our new day, I once again attempt to find the best way to slice my pie.
I can only hope the filling is made of chocolate.
