YEP, IT'S MY 39th BIRTHDAY
Miss-Miss: Let's play I-Spy! OK. I spy, wiff my little eye, somefing purple!
Me: Hmmmm, the pillow?
Miss-Miss: NO! The sunroom!
Me: OK. My turn. I spy, with my little eye, something pink.
Miss-Miss: My shirt! *Giggling* I spy, wiff my little eye, somefing gray!
Me: *Puzzled* Huh. OK. *Looking around.* The TV?
Miss-Miss: NO! Your hair!
Me: *Facepalm*
Yeah, I'm getting older. As of this moment, I have entered the final year of my 30s. There are only 365 more days left to be as close to "Young and Hip" as I'll ever be. All too soon, I'll be knocking on the door marked "Old Fart."
Being on this cusp is weird. There's a constant inner monologue going on that I, at times, wish would shut the fuck up. Moments when my brain screams Run that extra mile, woman! It's good for you! and my knees and hips reply Oh, sure. Go right ahead, honey. But we'll make sure you pay for it all next week. My brain and body seem to be going their separate ways, constantly. Like, for example, my brain screams Oh! YEAH! Feel that rhythm! Dance, baby! and my ears scream Turn that crap down! Do you think the entire neighborhood wants to listen to that garbage? I swear, it's like I'm a psychic medium but the only spirit I'm channeling is my father. And finally, there are those moments of watching the neighborhood kids play kickball in our cul-de-sac, using our driveway as home plate, when I think Oh, looks like they're having a great time! and yet I find myself clamping my hand over my mouth because all it wants to shout is Get off my lawn you pesky, good-fer-nuthin' kids!
I don't get it, this dichotomy of getting old. My brain is convinced, absolutely, positively, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I'm 19*. But I know when others look at me, especially those who truly are 19, that I'm not. I see it in the mirror when I look at those gray hairs that so prominently stand out to Miss-Miss, and I feel it when I do run that extra mile.
I don't like it. But, I'm going to fight it, every damned step of the way. I will not age gracefully. I will age fighting.
So, happy birthday to me, dammit, and my ability to be 39 in body, but 19 in spirit!
* I would have to say that looking back at all of my ages, 19 was my favorite. I was out of the house, away from the parents, in college, had a bunch of friends, and was having the time of my life, all still with a happy view of the world. Yeah, 19 was the best.
14 comments:
Happy Birthday you old...just kidding, I'm the old one.
I hope you have a fantastic day!
Happy Birthday dear one!
Hope you have a wonderful day celebrating the 100th Anniversary of the birth of Ronald Reagan! ;-)
I'm hear to open that door, old fart.
Happy birthday!
Have a great birthday, but fight it all the way.
Happy Birthday :)
Happy Birthday Heather...from another Heather....sent here by an Adam.
19 was awesome - and YOU look awesome!!
Happy Birthday!!
xoxo
I, too, am figing getting older every step of the way!
Happy Birthday, my friend!!! Now we have a year to plan to your big 4-0 party!!! :)
Heather: I turn 44 in a couple of months, and let me tell you, the forties are not bad.
When I turned 40—I know, it's a year away for you, but you already know how quickly it will be upon you—when I turned 40, unlike when I turned 30, I actually started to feel like I was getting old. I was convinced I would need dentures, bifocals, and a hearing aid, and I was ready to sign up for my membership in the AAROP (the American Association of Really Old People).
Well, I didn't need dentures, but I did have to get a cavity filled for the first time in years; it actually made me feel like a kid again. And I didn't get bifocals until last year, when I was 43, but that was one of the best things in a long time: suddenly I could read labels in the grocery store without having to take off my glasses! And my hearing is just fine, even better than I would like it to be: I can hear every snide comment from the back of the classroom. Also, I've decided that all the gray in my beard—and, oh Lord, there's a lot of it—looks distinguished and professorial. (Even if sometimes I do get asked if Elyse [my one-year-old daughter, for anyone who doesn't know] is... *sigh*...my first granddaughter. Okay, THAT does make me feel old. But it hasn't happened in several months.)
You have to get over the stigma associated with the term "middle age." It doesn't mean anything bad, it's just descriptive, it's...well, the middle—not the beginning, true, but not the end either. And think about how many things—novels, movies, pizza, Charms Blow-Pops—have most of their best stuff right in the middle.
Well, anyway...Happy Birthday, Heather! I hope it was a great one.
One more thing: Are you still paying a dollar a word for comments? 'Cause I can write an even LONGER comment if you are. Heck, I can write a sequel to that novel I just posted!
I am NOT an old fart. Or you won't be either.
Happy Birthday.
happy birthday to you!
Funny thing....a lot of us "old farts" feel 19 in our heads. It must be the Prime age or something. I'll soon be embarking on the last of the 40's (*gah*) So I feel ya!
Happy Birthday, my friend. You are still beautiful.....inside and out.
i'm so incredibly happy that you were born. happy, happy day.
p.s. mom always said life begins at 40.
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