(Or, How I Finally Stopped Stressing and Learned to Love the Wrinkles)

If you’d told my 25-year-old self I’d be starting this whole mom-thing after my knees already started making “creaky door” noises, I would have laughed. Then I probably would have had a very sensible nap. But here we are. Having a kid when you’ve already figured out the difference between good tequila and “regret-in-a-bottle” is an adventure. You’re wiser, maybe a little more tired, and you definitely have better furniture.

Turns out, the lessons you learn are less about perfectly pureeing organic kale and more about surviving on sheer spite and coffee. Here are the 10 big ones:

1. I Am No Longer “Cool Aunt” Material

The kids of my friends used to think I was the fun one—the one with the sparkly nail polish and zero bedtime. Now? I’m the one who insists we turn the lights off to save electricity and asks if they’ve had enough fiber. I’ve become my own cautionary tale. My only “cool” feature is my Amazon Prime membership.

2. My Back Is Officially on Strike

I used to be able to pull all-nighters, dance ’til 4 AM, and then go to work. Now, lifting a 30-pound toddler out of the car seat feels like a competitive Olympic sport. I’ve purchased so many ergonomic pillows, I could build a fort. If you see me doing a weird little hip-swivel while I walk, I’m not dancing—I’m trying to realign my entire skeletal structure.

3. I Have Zero Energy for Petty Drama

In my 20s, I’d analyze a passive-aggressive text message for three hours. Now, if you’re not a small human needing a juice box or a large human bringing me wine, I literally cannot spare the brain cells. My mental hard drive is full, and my storage is dedicated to remembering where I put my keys and the name of the Paw Patrol dog that flies.

4. “Self-Care” is Lowering My Standards

It’s not a weekend spa retreat. It’s sitting on the toilet for 10 minutes by myself while I scroll through pictures of dogs. It’s eating a piece of chocolate that my kid dropped on the floor because I’m too tired to get a new one. It’s letting my spouse feed the kids microwaved fish sticks. And honestly? It’s glorious.

5. Gray Hair is My Superpower

I used to panic about finding a gray hair. Now, I see them as tiny little silver badges of honor. They say, “I have been here. I have survived a stomach flu outbreak. I deserve respect… and a strong cocktail.” I color it, sure, but the roots are there, a beautiful monument to all the times I almost lost my mind.

6. I’ve Mastered the Art of the “Mom Stare”

Because I’m older, my face has already been practicing the fine lines of disappointment for years. I don’t even need to yell. One look—a subtle tightening around the eyes, a slight downturn of the mouth—and the kid knows the game is over. It’s like a non-verbal threat, and it’s much more effective than yelling. Highly recommend.

7. Bedtime is a Negotiation I Always Win

When they were younger, I worried about routines. Now, I see bedtime as the glorious clock-out time for my day. I have no patience for “one more story” or “I need water.” I’ll use every parental cheat code in the book. You go to bed, kid. Mommy has a date with her fuzzy slippers and Netflix.

8. My Social Life is Now a Series of Cancelled Events

I’m the friend who will RSVP “Yes!” with wild enthusiasm on a Tuesday, only to send a frantic, shame-filled “So sorry, but the kid barfed/has a fever/needs a hug/I am too tired to form sentences” text on Saturday. My friends get it. Because they’re doing the exact same thing. It’s not anti-social; it’s pro-pajamas.

9. I Finally Stopped Comparing Myself to Young Moms

You know the ones. They look rested, their jeans fit perfectly, and their kids are eating organic, homemade, gluten-free, locally sourced oat muffins. I used to feel inadequate. Now? I’m like, “Good for you, honey! I’m over here trying to remember which day I last washed my hair. We’re just playing different sports.”

10. You’re Tougher Than You Think

In my 20s, I thought a chipped nail was a disaster. Now, I’ve dealt with fevers, public tantrums, mysterious stains, and the existential dread of a school fundraiser. Having kids over 35 means you’ve already had a whole life of “practice.” You know yourself, you know what you can handle, and you know how to order takeout at an emergency speed. We’re not just older; we’re seasoned.

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What’s the funniest, most ridiculous thing you’ve sacrificed in the name of parenting? Mine was definitely my last piece of sanity.