When I crawled into bed the night before my fortieth birthday, Bob looked at me and exclaimed, “So! It’s the last night of your thirties. Ever! That’s kind of crazy, right? You’ll never be thirty again. Weird.” He then promptly rolled over and closed his eyes leaving me to ponder the unrelenting march of time all on my own. How thoughtful.
I fell asleep on the last night of my thirties trying to remember what the last night of my twenties had looked like. In October of 2005, I was about two months shy of giving birth to Henry, my first child. My thirties were all about pregnancy and babies and toddlers. I think I spent the entire decade either thinking about getting pregnant or talking about getting pregnant or trying to get pregnant or being pregnant or recovering from being pregnant. My thirties were years and years of nursing and diaper changes and bottles and cribs and spit up and high chairs and that weird rice cereal and fantasies about hiring a night nanny.
I hadn’t really thought about turning forty as the end of something until Bob brought it up. This birthday has always seemed like the beginning of something. Something different. The beginning of the post-baby phase of my – of our – life. We’ve spent so much time building our family that I’m excited to get to enjoy our family. Well, now that everyone can walk upright anyway.
I celebrated turning forty by shedding 22 pounds, cutting off most of my hair and purchasing additional life insurance. I’ve been working at the weight loss since May and have wanted the hair cut since forever but the life insurance was a last minute panic purchase two days before my birthday. Nothing screams advancing age like pondering and planning for what would happen to your family following your untimely demise.
Outside of a lovely mid-week lunch date with Bob, the majority of the birthday revelry was pushed to the weekend, when my sister arrived from Louisville. My sister is the life of any party but you probably couldn’t tell that or anything. She makes everything brighter. And, funnier.
Friends joined us throughout the day on Saturday as we visited local wineries. Some friends, I’ve known for what seems like forever and some I’ve just had the good fortune of meeting since our move here. I loved having the chance to relax and catch up with each of them. I’m always sort of oddly humbled when people go out of their way or make special arrangements to accommodate time together and I know the childcare gymnastics each one of my friends had to go through to make Saturday happen was definitely an exercise. I feel eternally blessed to have such lovely, giving women in my life. The copious amount of wine and cheese was nice, too. It was just a perfect day.
So far, forty is off to a great start. I walked for four miles with Millie this morning but then had to come home and take a mid-afternoon nap to recuperate. That seems about right. I suppose I should expect a little yin and yang in this coming decade, no?