The biggest win of being 40-something? We finally get what Barbie was trying to teach us all along: Ken is just there.

Now, at 40-something, we aren't asking, "What can I be?" We are asking, "What do I have to take off my plate to get eight hours of sleep?"

That is a metaphor for the 40s.

If you are a 40-something woman, you likely have a complicated relationship with the original 11.5-inch blonde. We grew up in the golden era of the 1980s and 90s Barbie—the era of the Barbie and the Rockers big hair, the Magic Moves bending joints, and the absolute cultural chokehold of the Barbie Dreamhouse (the one with the actual plastic elevator).

Barbie told us we could be an astronaut, a CEO, a veterinarian, and a presidential candidate—all before lunch. We bought it. We graduated, climbed the ladders, leaned in, and burned the candle at both ends.

And honestly? That is way more fabulous than plastic heels ever were.

You have been through enough life now to have a few "splits" that didn't heal right. You have the drawer in the kitchen with the mismatched Tupperware lids. Your hair has grays (that you may or may not embrace). You have lost the corvette keys more times than you care to admit. The 40-something Barbie doesn't care about being pristine in the box anymore. She is out of the box, drawn on with Sharpie, and still standing—even if she is a little bit crooked.

We are the generation that grew up with the impossible proportions. We had the "Slumber Party Barbie" that came with a scale set permanently to "110 lbs" and a book called How to Lose Weight that advised: "Don't eat."

Now that we are 40-something, we are building our own Dreamhouses. They might have clutter and laundry piles, but they have love. We might not fit into her pink corvette, but we are comfortable in our minivan.

Remember when the biggest decision Barbie had to make was whether to wear the pink heels or the purple ones to Ken’s beach party?

Here is what the Barbie conversation looks like when you are navigating perimenopause, mortgage rates, and youth sports.

But now that we are Barbie’s age (arguably, she’s perpetually frozen at 19, but let’s be real—we’ve aged, she hasn’t), looking at her hits differently.

Ouch.