December 7th as I type this.
One month until my birthday. My ouch ouch ouch hurts to type this...Thirty... ow ow ow Seventh... birthday. Ack.
As a kid, December 7th was AWESOME. I'd wake up singing, "One month til my birth-day, one month til my birth-day. Cha cha cha, cha cha cha! One month til my birth-day!"
As a 36 year old, this morning's song in my head was more like, "One month til my birthday? Crap. One month til my birthday. Sigh. One month til my birthday. Wake me when it's over."
Didn't help that this morning I woke up from a dream where my breasts had deflated and were hanging to my knees. You know, like how they animate little old ladies? Those big ol sandbags for boobies, wibblin and wobblin to the floor?
I woke up and grabbed my chest but didn't get the reassurance I was hoping for.
37? That's LATE 30s.
I've been desperately holding on to mid-30s. "I'm in my MID-30s." As if that made me sound younger. Mid 30s, please! Not LATE 30s. MID 30s.
I picture a large 37 hiding behind a 35 and the 35 pushing it forward. "Uh uh. No no no. You're 37. You're supposed to be in the LATE 30s section."
I picture an awful lot of odd things in my mind. Animated saggy breasts. Numbers that can talk. Senility IS a sign of old age, dontcha know.
Yeah yeah yeah. 37 isn't OLD. Talk to the age spotted hand. I've got a canyon running between my eyebrows and two sand pits hanging under my eyes. Speaking of hanging, let's not even go back to the breast issue.
It's not so much the fading looks. Or inching ever so closely to fuh fuh fuh fuh ... spit it out... Forty. It's the fact that it's going so quickly, this life. I was just celebrating 36, albeit a bit begrudgingly. I blinked and here I am. Again.
Aging gracefully in a youth obsessed society. Slowing down the aging process in a fast paced world. Stop me before I become a Oil of Olay commercial.
I realized the other day I've been on the internet for almost 13 years. Blogging for 7. Never was my age more apparent than when a newbie to the online world, ten years my junior, blew off my concerns over internet forum safety and privacy. I was half incensed, half embarrassed. Incensed because someone with my online experience, and there have been many straaaaaange ones, knows what's she talking about. Listen to me. Learn from me. Embarrassed because of course someone youthful would have a devil-may-care attitude. What am I saying? Someone youthful would never use the expression devil-may-care!
These days, you can't swing a cat without hitting a blogger. Again with the old fashioned expressions? Now that I'm LATE 30s, I find those expressions quite comforting. No longer do I feel the need to use the latest slang. In fact, I find the latest slang a bit uninspired. Come on, kids. You'll never out-awesome my generation's over-use of awesome. We still do it to this day. You'll do it, too. Dude.
So here I am, soon to enter my late 30s. I've got a house that I dislike a great deal in a slow buyer's market and a figure I can't seem to tame down to a reasonable size. My only hobby is writing in a blog that can't get beyond a few readers a day, a career that has sputtered to a halt due to my lack of time to nurture it along, and an idea for a mommy show that will never amount to anything more than "that one show I once did on the internet when I was in my MID 30s and still dared to dream."
On the up side I've got a husband who seems to love me in spite of ... being me.... Three amazing little girls who fascinate and delight me daily. Three cats and none being used to club unsuspecting bloggers, despite my fondness for the dated expression above.
I'm to the point where I can look back on my 20s without wincing, high school was too long ago to even give a second thought, and the pains of my childhood don't hurt as badly. I am funnier, wiser, and wittier than I've ever been. You don't get that at 21, my friends. This isn't brazen cockiness of youth speaking. This is the self assured satisfaction of the experienced.
Maybe LATE 30s won't be so bad after all.