Reflections on Thirty-Eight

I turned thirty-nine on the eleventh.

I needed to let it soak in for a good week before even attempting to write this post.

It's conflicting, really.

The logical, rational side of me says "no big deal, I'm still young, it's just a number, it doesn't matter one bit.  I'm generally healthy, generally happy, and have many great years ahead of me."

The crazy, emotional, tendency to over-react to everything side of me says "what the hell just happened? I was thirteen, like, yesterday. This is my last trip around the sun as a thirty-something.  How will I even cope this year with forty taunting me on the horizon?"  This side also caused me to write a to-do list that includes things like making a video will, creating a list of items I want to take with me, so to speak, when I go, and ridding my closet/dresser of all items that a woman in her forties shouldn't wear.  And it made me google things like the average costs of funerals these days, the most creative places people have had their ashes scattered, and the safest, most popular plastic surgeries available.

Then Punky's dad slapped me.

Not really.  But I'm sure he wanted to.  My pity party lasted all day Sunday.  I moaned, I sighed, I whined, I moped.  I took an inventory of my grays, I checked my legs for spider veins, I stared at the wrinkles that have definitely started forming around my eyes and smile.  Lucky for him, he was on third shift that weekend so he slept a good part of the day.  But while awake, he followed me from room to room as I bounced from topic to topic, spewing tangent after tangent.  He was a good sport when I asked him repeatedly if I look my age, if he thinks I'm fat, if my boobs are getting droopy, if I should dye my hair.  

Lucky for us, I was back to my normal self on Monday.  

Thirty-eight was a good year.  We had our first ever real family vacation.  My peanut transitioned from baby to big girl.  The health scare we had with her turned out to be nothing, so far anyway.  My years on diaper-duty came to an end.  We had great holidays.  We both remained gainfully employed.  Of course, there was some drama, some bad luck, and some shitty days.  

I thought thirty-eight would be a year of change for me on a personal level, but it didn't really start to kick in till the end.  Even though I thought I was ready, I suppose I wasn't.  Now, slowly, the pieces are coming together and I've started down the path.  The big 4-0 looming overhead is a great motivator.  I know who and where I want to be at forty.  And I have less than a year to make it happen.  Some changes will be big, some small, some easy, some hard, some may even be silly but necessary to get to where I'm going.  

Stay tuned.  I think thirty-nine will be a great year.