So Saturday is my birthday. I am usually a full out celebrator of the entire month. I completely deem my own birthday as my favorite holiday of the year and fully expect all others around me to acknowledge it as such.
This year feels different.
Although my students went far out of their way to surprise me with a cake and cards and balloons, and my husband and kids have been doing thoughtful little things for me all week-making breakfast, cleaning my car, bringing me Starbucks-something is just off.
I think part of this off feeling has to do with edging closer to 40, an age my teenage self didn’t even think I’d ever turn. I mean, 40 year olds wear mom jeans and rock turtlenecks. “That will never be me!” I can hear my 17 year old self saying disgustedly.
But as I sit here, on the eve of turning 36, I realize that I am drinking Malibu and Coke (because I’m a boss and this week was horrendous), watching Netflix, and curled up with my dog because my husband is working nights. I love our little life, but while it isn’t dressed in Jansports and a fresh pair of denim Wranglers, it still doesn’t look quite like I’d pictured.
My kids make me so tired. I don’t hang with my girlfriends as much as I wish I did. My career isn’t what I dreamed of. And my husband and I would much rather choose Netflix and an early bedtime over just about anything. And my mom body is shocking! Sisters, there is just no other appropriate word for it.
Maybe this is a year for me to use this feeling as inspiration to motivate me forward into setting high goals, pushing to achieve dreams, and slaying my mom pooch. Or, maybe I’ll resign to accept myself for once, whether I have a flat belly or a tummy flap from having two kids.
Regardless of how 36 looks and feels, I am so grateful. So go dig out your box of wine and raise your glass, friends. We’re about to make 40 look good!
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