So today I turn 35. There is something about 35 that suddenly sounds OLD. I know, I know, it is NOT old. But it just seems like a big turning point, for some reason.
Maybe it’s because on every form I’ve filled out for the past year, when they ask for my age, there is a box for 21-34 and a box for 35-50. And I have very intentionally filled in the 18-34 box each time, knowing it may be the last time I am allowed to lump myself in with the 20-somethings.
Or maybe it’s because, if I were to get pregnant again, which is not in the master plan (MY master plan, that is, not The Master’s plan — there is a difference, I realize), but if I did, I would be considered high risk based on my age alone. But I’m going on the assumption that my child-bearing years are behind me, and that is quite a sobering thought.
Or maybe it’s because when I was a young’un, an older friend told me that she had a great metabolism until she turned 35, and then managing her weight had been an uphill battle ever since. I’ve been dreading the big Three-Five ever since.
Or maybe it’s because the next stop on this train is menopause. Or because the gray hairs are starting to outnumber the brown ones.
But for whatever reason, 35 feels like a major crossroads. So I’ve been making the most of my birthday WEEK. Yes, WEEK. I’m all about stretching out the festivities for as long as possible. It all started last weekend when my parents were here.
Then on Friday night when we got back from the beach, my husband cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen floor as part of his gift to me. Now, ladies, I ask you, do I know how to pick ’em or what!? And, no, you can’t have him!
And if that wasn’t enough, yesterday I got to get my nails done as the second part of my birthday gift.
For a split second of insanity, I considered taking C along with
me, thinking it would be a neat bonding activity for us girls. But I quickly came to my senses when I realized that it would
hardly be relaxing to have the Festival of Questions along with me, so I wisely left all chill’uns at home in the capable care of their daddy while I got some much-needed pampering.
After spending last week with 15 other family members in about 800 square feet of living space, some alone time was just what the doctor ordered.
Today I’ve been milking this birthday thang for all it’s worth. I figure, if I’ve gotta turn a year older, I might as well use it to my advantage. Like this morning when I told the kids that they are not allowed to fight on my birthday. And the same goes for whining. It worked, go figure. I wonder if I can use my birthday to coerce them to make their beds and water my flowers and… Well, I probably shouldn’t push it.
This afternoon, we had friends over for lunch, and I had my second birthday cake. Because a girl can’t have too many birthday cakes. And this week, my friend Sarah is taking me out for a pomegranate martini or three.
The way I figure it, I’m not officially 35 until the birthday festivities are over, so I’m gonna stretch it out as long as possible. So feel free to keep wishing me happy birthday for the rest of the month. Or year. Maybe I’ll just stay 34 forever. From now on, you can call me the Queen of Denial.