In six weeks and two days I will be forty.
I can’t believe it’s already here. I remember being 16 and thinking that 40 was a bajillion years away. And then when I was 18 and had my son Liam, I did the math of milestones. When I’m 20, he’ll be 2. When I’m 30 he’ll be 12. When I’m 40 he’ll be 22. And here it is. Peeking out from behind the trees, taunting me.
Things I accomplished before 40:
I had five kids
I’ve done loads of theater
Made great friends
Written and published four books
Sang at War Memorial Hall in Guelph
Celebrated 20 years of marriage
Saw Tommy Tiernan live
Met the Irish Rovers
Had and beaten cancer
Was a Doula for over a dozen births
Voluntarily eaten NO raisins
Performed with a band
Been on Television and in two TV movies
Been interviewed on Rogers TV five times
Written for The Cambridge Times and The Toronto Sun
Discovered I’m allergic to pineapple
Questioned my sanity
Visited five provinces
Visited six states
Went to Vegas (won $100!)
Started and then MANY years later quit smoking
Started writing a blog
And this is just the stuff I can think of today, off the top of my head. Of course there is also a huge list of things I didn’t accomplish before the big 4-0 but I think I’ll save some of those for after my birthday.
Some, of course, it’s kind of too late for and I’ll have to find a way to let them go. I’ll never be a broadway star now. I’m sure all of NYC is crushed. It’s okay though, I can get by on the epic performances from my shower. Sure, the ovations are smaller, but, the acoustics are second to none. Besides, no one ever comments if I occasionally flub the lyrics.
I *feel* older now. It’s the first time in a long time where I think I have actually felt my age. Up until now I have always felt younger than the actual number of years I’ve been wheeling ’round the sun, but something about 40 is really proving that gravity + years = more lycra and underwire. Oh, and lots of hair dye, because all of a sudden, I have completely grey roots.
Recently I’ve noticed that I’m getting old hands. Of course when I pointed this out to a certain family member, they told me that it’s been evident for a long time. Thaaaanks.
I’ve also noticed that my inclination is to my flat, practical shoes rather than my beautiful collection of heels. This makes me sad. It also probably makes my shoes sad. They have feelings and they’re feeling left out. But, my back is all messed up and wearing heels for more than two hours makes me stabby and require medication, so I have to judge wisely when a situation is important enough to warrant two weeks of ice packs and ibuprofen.
Yes, 40. I hear you coming. I see you sticking your tongue out at me, which, I have to say, is pretty 20ish behaviour. But don’t fret. I have all the good wine stocked up in the basement and I’m ready for you.