It is my birthday on Saturday. 37. I don't feel 37... oh, who am I kidding? Yes, I do! I have a pinched nerve in my neck which isn't a pain in the, er, neck, it's a numb in the arm. And after a day of picking up toys and heaving wet clothes out of the washer my back yells at me until I go to bed. My teeth are showing signs of too much coffee and too little dentist, and my flesh appears to be rescinding on its agreement with gravity.
As I was obsessively raking through my mop of hair the other morning, searching for those pesky little gray sprouts, my daughter popped her out of the shower and said, "Did you find one, Mom?"
"Of course, there's always some hiding in here."
"I don't want you to die!"
Great. Gray hair = death.
I'm re-posting last birthday's rant now because, frankly, this talk of death and stiff joints is depressing. Time for a big cup of strong coffee and something gooey and sweet. Damn! I don't have anything in the kitchen that fits that description. Guess I'll just take my vitamins instead.
This is just uncalled for.
On the eve of my 36th birthday I found, not one, not two, but three gray hairs peeking out from under my otherwise auburn mass (not Auburn, Massachusetts... hehe, I'm so funny). How does that happen? One day you have none and the next you have three pigmentally-challenged hairs. Do they suddenly grow or do regular hairs turn gray? I suppose I could look this up on wikipedia but I can't be bothered with that right now. I'm more concerned with why this would happen on this day of all days.
Tonight at midnight I begin the downward slide to 40. I am beginning my 37th year with three holes in my head from whence I yanked the offending follicles. Am I supposed to read something into this? That the time has come for me to face that I am no longer a young woman?
You see, I have this thing about age. I always assume (completely illogically) that if someone is in a high position of power or reached a stage in their career that puts Director or President or CEO by their name, that they must be old(er). I even think anyone who has children - of any age - must be beyond me in years. I can never quite wrap my head around age.
At my new job I am reorganizing the personnel files. It was with shock that I discovered on a list only two or three 1970's birthdates. Other than the really old 'uns - born in the 50's and 60's -the majority of my co-workers were wailing in their cribs when I was Karma Chameleon-ing to Boy George.
Who do they see when they say hello to me from the hallway? Someone who stays home every night -even Fridays and holidays - who is dosing off at 8PM and gets buzzed on one glass of wine? Someone who will never again zip a pair of jeans without first folding in the baby belly, and who didn't like the 80's styles the first time around. I AM one of the older ones to them.
But aren't the 30's are supposed to be the best years of a women's life? (No? It's the 40's? According to Oprah, it's the 50's... ???)
Yes, tonight for the first time in my life I believe I am having trouble with a birthday. Planning our 20th high school reunion and realizing this year's seniors were born the year I graduated certainly doesn't help.
So, Happy B00-Hoo To Me.
(I still want cake.)
I just wanted to note that this miserable post from last year doesn't actually fit how I feel this year. I think I've passed into "what's age gotta do with it?" mode. Yes, I would like to have more energy to keep up with my kids but I'm happy... gray hairs and all!
(However, I do notice I was much funnier last year... )