So today I turn 39 -- standing oh-so-close to the point of questionable return -- the big 4-0!
Actually, 40 is probably the new 30, and the number of years I've tallied doesn't bother me one bit.
What baffles me though is when did this aging stuff happen? In my heart, I consider myself a DVD on pause -- somehow still in my late 20s or early 30s. Timeless. The blinking face in the mirror does not look THAT old.
In fact, maybe I can actually rewind the aging process. In my early 30s, I lived out my pre-pregnancy, pre-Dylan days better informed about fashion and world events, but I also was 15 pounds heavier and eating out 3-4 nights a week. In the last three years, I've taken up running like a madwoman logging 45-55 miles a week while training for my fourth marathon. Even in non-training weeks, I'm still logging 30-35 miles a week and feeling great.
And while I eat as I please, the crap shoveling days are gone. Fast food is a rarity as I embrace salads, leaner meats and plenty of good wine to keep my sanity with a kindergartener in the house.
So I can lessen the physical impact for now, but there are other ways I feel all of 39.
The question "What do you want for your birthday?" used to be so simple -- easily answered with fun clothes, shoes or perfume. Given my current state of fashion sense, those answers don't get much credence.
Instead, my greater wishes lie sandwiched between a generational gap of a little guy who is coming of age all too fast, and my parents who are trying to slow down the aging process. The things I truly wish for when blowing out the candles can't be bought. At the top of my wish list is my son's ability to confidently find his place in a crazy social order that is far more complicated than the one I came of age in. I hope he inherits my husband's ability to create art, appreciate music and be a strong decision maker. I hope he gets my interest in reading and writing, my athleticism and my outgoing disposition.
I wish my 75-year old dad the ability to regain his balance on surgically replaced knees. I wish my mother the ability to not worry so much about him.
It's a bummer the last time I looked, I can't order these things on line and have them delivered to my doorstep by the friendly UPS man. So I guess I settle for new running clothes (I'll throw out the crusty ones) and a few articles of clothing that actually look like they came from this decade. In the meantime, I launch my deepest hopes into the wind when I blow out the candles.