Okay, this is going to be quick and dirty, as it has been a ridiculously long week replete with two tiny and very snotty noses (no, make that snotty faces, the likes of which look like they've been dipped in gelatinous goop), a hacking husband, one extremely wakeful and tirelessly hungry baby girl, and an increasingly crabby mommy who most certainly feels that this recent lack of sleep will be the end of her. (I cannot stand when someone says "Lack of sleep never killed anyone." Just shut up!)
Anyway, the grit is this: tomorrow I am going to be 40 years old. Old. Not decrepit, but smack dab in the middle of my life. On one hand, I'm kind of taking it in stride. After all, there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. On the other hand, I'm grappling with all the changes my aging body is undergoing, like the fact that I need bifocals (I've been taking off my glasses lately to better see what I'm reading which is a total "huh?") and that I've had to step-up my hair dying repertoire to every 5 weeks, from every 7 or 8.
Technically speaking, I'm only going to be one day older than today. But now I'm going to join the ranks of the Forties, when I'd rather join the Thirties Plus Some club. Shouldn't there at least be some kind of perk to this "Welcome to Your Forties" club like a free bi-monthly Starbucks drink of my choice or a discounted oil change? The 65 plus crowd gets all the good stuff.
And no, forty is not the new thirty. It's just that forty doesn't look as dowdy and washed up as it did in the 50s or 60s. Forty-somethings have permission to shop in the juniors department and wear sneakers and listen to loud music when the kids aren't in the minivan. It's just forty feigning thirty feigning twenty.
I like to think the old forty is what sixty is today. Or fifty-five. Forty is just forty. Nothing more. And tomorrow, that's me. A woman of forty.
Tonight I leave the thirties behind, somewhat sad to see them go, but grateful for all the things they gave to me, namely a better head on my shoulders, a beautiful toddler-turned-'tween (to whom I gave birth in 1999 when I was 28), an amazing husband, and two lovely and adorable babies. With a few tears (right now, as I type) and a kick and a scream, I bid you adieu thirties!
Now where's my triple venti Caramel Macchiato?
About Me
- Candice
- Massachusetts, United States
- Wife to one, mom of three, low-energy-type coffee junkie (which, of course, goes hand-in-hand with motherhood), reluctant minivan owner, rock-n-roller, vegetarian, cloth diaperer, perpetual student (well, I'd like to be, but I'm well in the hole with student loans), abuser of parentheses (see previous uses) and ellipses (because so much is open-ended)...
