Thursday, May 14, 2009
So I've been a little freaked out about my age lately. This hasn't happened to me since I turned 27, but that was mainly because my soon-to-be husband and I were getting pretty serious and I could foresee the impending loss of my singlehood. That lasted about 2 days. Anyway, last week I turned 34 and while I don't think of 34 as being "old" in the least, it's still got me a little freaked. As my husband so kindly pointed out, I can no longer say that I'm in my early 30s. I am now in my mid-thirties. I am at the point in my life where stars from my youth are beginning to die. And not tragically young, either. While intellectually and even in the deep recesses of my heart I know that age doesn't matter, it's just a number, you're only as young as you feel, the truth is, I am feeling a little older, at least physically. The other night I stayed out until 11:30 watching a movie with some friends and I paid for it the next day. I was exhausted! And something always hurts - my shoulder or the other shoulder or my knee or my ankle or my wrist. I'm getting wrinkles and my metabolism, which has always been pretty fast, is slowing down. I swear sometimes I look in the mirror and think, "What the - ? Who is that woman staring back at me?" It's even hard for me to refer to myself as a "woman" and not a "girl." Mentally I'm not all that mature, so it's kind of difficult to have to admit that my body is getting older. I still feel young on the inside and really, I think that's what counts. Getting another year older is better than the alternative - death. And truthfully, my life just keeps getting better. The older I get, the more comfortable I am with myself and the more I embrace my "inner dork" and the more fun I have. Plus, my boys are growing up and right now, they're just plain hilarious. So yeah, I'm getting older. But, like fine wine and cheese, I'm getting better, too.