On being 38 and turning 39.

This week I am turning 39. Yes, It’s my Birthday this Friday. As a proper grown up I am supposed to scoff at that and think it unimportant. But hey! I am not a proper grown up. Birthdays always give me the feeling of starting anew, or at the least with a slightly less mucky slate.

I thought the same last year I guess but as I’m reading last year’s birthday blog I’m getting mightily depressed. I did absolutely none of the things I said I would do this year. Nothing!

Here’s what I so eloquently put together back then:

For my 38th I will make the following resolutions. One night (or a few) I will smoke a packet of cigarettes, being pleasantly drunk on a mix of beer, whisky and wine (ambitions) and dance dance dance. There will be a morning where I will see a sunrise after being up all night talking. I will visit a museum every once in a while, with the Kid. I will go on Vacation. I will beat this anxieties ass. And most importantly I will enjoy every minute watching the Kid grow up, and try to give him a mom that has a life.

Let’s be super-efficient and tackle these things one at the time:

I have smoked packets of cigarettes, yep. But I was not pleasantly drunk, nope. I was hurt and sad. They were sad cigarettes, the ones you smoke while blubbering tears and getting more stressed out by the drag.

I drank some, I did. No whisky though and for the dancing.. If my living room counts I danced! Yes, I’ve been out a few times but they have been controlled affairs. Controlled by me.

Sunrises. well, sadly no. That did not happen either. Or does being woken up before sunrise count? Me and the Kid went to the Zoo, that is almost a museum, right? And yes, we did go on vacation, phew, ok got that down.

As shown by many a blog during the last year I have not beaten my anxieties ass. However, I have sort of petted it into submission? Vague, but since my Anxiety seems to have an ass I’m sure it has a head that can be petted.

So, what did I do this year? It feels like nothing but also as a lot. Most of the time I spent working and mothering.

Meaning that during the day I sent out loads of emails, attended meetings, did some agile scrumming and then went home to spend my evenings trying to get the Kid to eat what I make and spend the nights surrounded by mountains of laundry and a lack of sex.

Let’s not forget that this was also the year that me and the Kids dad called it quits. That was not nothing. It was a lot. Especially the three nights a week I spend without the Kid were and are hard to get used to. As a mom, you’re probably not even meant to get used to that.

Blabla. Clearly upcoming birthdays make me slightly melancholic, thinking about missed opportunities, but also if what I want out of life is still achievable. To get a bit of grasp on what is ahead I just used the great internet to see what my life as a 39-year-old will amount to.

I Googled “39 years old” and “turning 39“. You know, as you do. Some interesting facts popped up. Apparently both men and women are most likely to get a midlife crisis at 39. Well, why not? I’m sure I can handle a bit of a midlife crisis.

Then you have your average, “am I too old to have a baby at 39?” message boards. No, you are not, is what I say! But who am I? Geez getting all philosophical.

Lots of “how to keep my body in shape when nearing 40?“, so depressing! Am I supposed to start doing sports now?

And finally, I found a whole study on Life when your age ends with a 9. Apparently when that is so and you are on the cusp of turning 30, 40 or 50 you are more likely to have a boob job, an affair, run a marathon or.. well you get the picture. A boob job seems mighty fine to me right now, if it means I can skip the whole marathon thing.

Maybe I should start this new age not saying what I will do at 39 but what I won’t do. To up my chances of succeeding. Good idea, right? Here we go.

I will not look at myself in the mirror and worry about wrinkles, hanging breasts and a sagging bum. I will not say sorry all the time. I will not get too impatient with the Kid and his tantrums. I will not scold myself for being emotional and melancholic. I will not eat peanut butter or…you know what!

I will not let anxiety stop me from doing the things I want.

There, I think that is enough to tackle for now. Once again thanks for reading my incessant ramblings. I will not apologise for them this time!