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Friday, April 4, 2014

Age is more than just a number

Something happened yesterday. And it was something I didn't even realize until later in the day when a coworker pointed it out.

I turned 31 yesterday. I wasn't the least bit concerned. I hit 30 and nothing bad happened. In fact, 30 was my benchmark. I wanted two kids by the time I was 30. I confidently flew through my birthday extremely pregnant and knew I was happy with where I was.

This year, ended slightly different. I am now fully "in my 30's". I don't have to tell anyone my real age for a few more years. I can just say "I'm in my 30's". Unless it's the cops. They want a real number. Or the DMV. They won't put 30's as an age on your driver's license. Again. Because of the cops.

I'm also well enough established in life that I don't give a flying hoot what people think of me.

You can see my gray hair? That's because I'm in my 30's and it's ok to have gray hair. At 25, I needed to dye that shit once a month. Now, I'll live with it for a few more weeks. Doesn't bother me any. Besides, I earned them fair and square. Life around these parts isn't always easy. I came by those gray hairs the old fashioned way- I had kids who drive me nuts.

I'm out of shape? I had two children, one by C-section. I work nights so I can stay home with them during the day. And I like cupcakes. I'm in my 30's. A set of love handles never killed anyone. But please be aware, I hate them and I am going to the gym. But "in your 30's" is when the weight doesn't seem to melt off anymore like it used to. And I'm ok with it. Or at least it isn't giving me panic attacks yet.

I don't drive a cool car? Yeah well, it's not important to me. What I need is a car with 4 doors and enough room for me to move my seat far enough away from little feet that I don't feel like I'm riding a bad roller coaster when I'm driving. I need a car that has enough room for all the toys I have to take everywhere. I don't care if it's cool. Hell, I don't even care if it's all the same color. It's all about convenience at this point. (For the record, what we really need is a limo. With sound proofing in the back. For the kids to play. Dad and I can ride up front.)

I don't wear cool clothes? Listen, be thankful they aren't covered in shit. That's my requirement now. Most everything gets bought at Wal-mart because it's just going to end up with stuff plastered on it anyway. Mostly on my back, where I can't see it. That's the prime place for sticky disgusting hands to end up when they give you sweet baby hugs.

All in all, yesterday made me realize that I have entered the portion of my life where I can just be me. At 21, everyone cares what you wear and drive and how cool you are. At 25, everyone cares what you look like. At 31 with 2 kids, people are just impressed when you have on anything but sweatpants and your hair isn't hiding treats for later.

This is exactly the spot where I want to be. I've never been one for caring what anyone thought of me anyway, but at least now no one expects me to. I'm actually looking forward to turning 40. That's the next big one. That's when I never have to dye my hair again, I can go to the store in anything I want, AND my kids will be old enough to not have to have me walk them to school anymore, which means I can wear sweatpants all day.

I'm totally going to start doing that soon anyway, but at least at 40, no one will care.