Honestly, I don’t really have anything to say. But it was time to move that other picture off the main spot. I contemplated removing it altogether (I think they call that “delete”) but it just makes me laugh, the whole thing.
So, uh…wanna hear about my day? No? Okay. Then, wanna hear about how I bought this cool new (to me) wart remover that FREEZES the warts off, right here in the home? Not that any of MY boys have warts of course. Nope, no one has a giant one just dangling off his knee for the whole world to see. Gross. Who wants to hear about warts? Not me.
Hmmm, well, there isn’t much else to report. As you might imagine, my life is pretty much wholly fixated on our leaving on our big trip next week and getting all my ducks in a row for that. Also, as I mentioned this is a significant birthday (the big Four-Oh!) and I have lots of thoughts swirling on that.
Yesterday at Costco (!!) (do you have a Costco? Then you know why it gets the !!), the checkout guy asked if I was old enough to buy all the beer I was getting. I told him I hoped so because it was to celebrate my fortieth birthday which was in a few days. The other cashier mentioned she was also turning 40 this year, but that she liked to refer to it as her “double twenty.”
For some reason I’m just not feeling too freaked out about leaving my 30s. I mean, yes, it’s crazy that I’m now going to be OLDER than that, but oh well. It’s better than the alternative. Too me, it’s about how you feel, really. And I’ve had seasons where I felt really bad. In those seasons, I’m not too keen on time creeping on, and I’m more inclined to yearn for my youth.
Two years ago, my birthday rolled around and I had an eight-week-old Isabel. I looked and felt horrible. I was sleep deprived and well, I could think of lots of other adjectives to describe a woman’s body after just giving birth. Yes, beautiful yes yes. But when you find yourself mere weeks after giving birth standing on the beach at the lake with friends and someone asks how you feel about getting older, you generally just don’t feel great about that concept. It’s not the age, it’s the fatigue and the mental ennui. The number is just something there to make things seem worse, something to point a finger at.
Last year I had a momentary freak out when I turned 39. But this year, I just don’t feel any of that.
This year, I feel really good. Age is just a number.
And now that I’ve said that, I realize that makes me sound officially old.