From a very nice card made by my lovely nephew.
It's been over two weeks and I am just now feeling up to discussing my birthday. I woke up the morning of the third of February feeling seriously depressed. It didn't help that I woke up at 5:30 AM to the sound of a screaming baby. And although my husband went to work late so that I could sleep in and made me a beautiful breakfast while fending off two crazymakers I was still in a major funk. And then it snowed all day long. That did not help at all. Also, I had a really awful acne flare up which was truly unfair. Acne and wrinkles together - why wasn't I warned?
I think that for me turning 39 is way harder than 40. I remember hating 29 too and just wanting to get the year over with. I feel the same way now. I am living a lie! I am practically in my forties so why pretend? (This is a symptom of a greater problem which is that my head will never let me be in the moment. Stupid head. Yeah, you.) I do feel like I am saying goodbye to my youth. A good youth. A well-lived and extended-to-almost-the-last-possible-second-youth, but youth nonetheless. Not that I would go back, good God and go through all that angst again? No way. But I am sad to see it go. (Especially the wardrobe. At least I can still fit into most of the shoes.) I am sure I will enjoy old age because, beyond my health and death, there will be much less to worry about. It's middle age I'm not sure I am going to like so much. So much going on, so many responsibilities, so many PTA meetings and questionable hair styles. I'm sure it will be fine. I'm sure it will be more than fine, why I'll be in the shank of life! But I'll probably be kind of grumpy until this year is over. At least forty will be the start of something instead of the end. Soon enough I'll be wishing I was forty again. Instead of 49. It never stops. Stupid head.
