Yes, I am forty-something. Forty-four to be exact - and loving it. There will be no Botox injections, implants or liposuction for me. I will be just fine with what God gave me, enhanced by living and eating right ... and a little exercise on the side.

That is not to say that I won't make an occasional pit stop at Baskin Robbins for a cone, or at the frozen food section at the grocery store to take Mrs. Pillsbury and her chocolate chip, slice and bake cookies home every now and then. Or that I won't arrange an occasional sleep over with my favorite beau - or more accurately put, my only beau. (My daughters may be reading.)

What I have learned in my pre-menopausal years is moderation, moderation, everything in moderation. Of course, some things should not be done at all. For example eating a half-gallon of ice cream in one feeding, or lusting after the 22-year old cable guy ...

But that's a whole other article.

Recently I went to my family reunion and after eating just a tad too much, I decided to join the youngsters in jumping rope, single rope and Double Dutch. I jumped like I was 14 (okay, 18) again. My youngest sister Detra was in awe and I loved it. Unfortunately, my ankles are still recuperating from that blast from the past. Oh well, there just won't be any stilettos for me for a while.

I did mention earlier having a beau and daughters. Well, I am also a statistic. A single/divorced, Black mother who raised two beautiful daughters - who by the way both have college degrees, thank you very much. And I must add that their Dad was always there for all of us. We just got married way too young, at nineteen. It all worked out fine though, which is something I thank the "All Mighty" for regularly, among other things.

Yet because I was married at age 19, and had my first baby at age 20 and last baby at age 22, it gets a little complicated when I try to convince my daughters (now ages 22 and 24) to wait to settle down, especially when they both have willing beaus. (I like that word: beau; it sounds so romantic.) I suppose that was another time and this is a different world. I can wait for my grandbabies, I tell them ...

Well, enough about that; back to the issue at hand.

While experiencing life at forty-something I have noticed the oh-so-subtle formation of jowls, dimples above my knees and the heart-breaking loss of my 20/20 vision, which recently prompted me to see an eye doctor. Several return visits for testing have now rendered me a possible glaucoma victim. This is getting depressing, so before I change the path of this story, let me just say that:

Yes, life is good. Even at forty-something.

Forty-four to be exact.

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