Almost 40? Seriously?

Let's just start this blog entry out with a bang.

Earlier tonight I lifted my shirt up a tad, jumped up and down, and showed my husband exactly what my stomach would look like if I were ever to ride a mechanical bull.

There was no wine and chocolates by the fireplace after that, needless to say.

Is it even possible to have a six pack after two C-sections? I'm not sure. I also remember how back in the day I gained not the freshman fifteen, but the freshman thirty. But even then, my tummy was still flat. Ummm, not so much now.

And by the way, before we move forward, let me interject that though my talent at anything is very limited, I am proud to announce that I actually HAVE ridden a mechanical bull once in my life at a pub in Wisconsin, and they could NOT throw me off of the bull. Granted, I could not move my wrist for a good half hour, but that is one of my favorite accomplishments. That, in and of itself, may, in fact, be pathetic.

Anyhoooooo.

I became aware of the fact today that in twenty days I will be 40. Seriously. 40. What? Is up? With THAT?
That sounds so flipping old to me that I can't even process it.

Let me share a little story with you. Two years ago, I was Christmas shopping in a trendy area near where I live. I went in this artsy jewelry store where a security guard and two girls were chatting. My first thought was that these people looked fun. I assessed them to be about my age. I sort of started chatting with them. As I bought some jewelry, I had to fill out a survey. One of the questions was, "Are you in a sorority?" Now, I'm not stupid. I knew the question was meant for girls in college. I sort of laughed at the question and said, "Well, I was an AOPi...back in 1990!" I knew they wanted to know only of "current" sorority girls, but I was reliving my youth a bit. The guy lit up and said, "Hey, that's the year I was born!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why is it that no matter what the mirror reflects, I forever feel like I am 25 in my mind??? Am I going to think I am 25 when I am soaking my dentures in a cup and looking for Depends on sale?

Sometimes when I am with my kids it fascinates me that society thinks I am old enought to actually take care of two human beings? Is it normal to feel young and inadequate even when the mirror reflects age and  wisdom?

One of the hardest things for me now is that I have these impossibly thin and hot friends. Friends that I have to hang out with at our neighborhood pool. It's sort of like an adult form of detention. They are thin, fit, and they eat lots of fruit.

Today, after exercising and eating more reasonably for several days, the scale not only went down but went up. I was expressing my frustration with a friend. I told her that I guess I was going to just be forty, fat, and fabulous. She encouraged me to join a gym. I told her I hate gyms. She then told me that maybe I would just have to be fat and fabulous. I went and bought four strawberry cupcakes to take home.

If you were to meet me, you would probably consider me to be "of average" size. But, unfortunately, bathing suits change that perspective. Last year my friends gave me margaritas for my birthday and took my bathing suit shopping. My thin friends did this. Dang them.

But today I got quite the reality check. A friend/ acquaintance of mine died over a year ago. She left behind three small children. The last time I spoke to her she was determined to beat the cancer. I couldn't accept any notion other than that she would. She was determined.

She fought hard.

She lost.

I read people's comments on her Facebook page today. I read about how much people miss her. I read about her beautiful children, about how they are thriving and how they are so much like she was and how her spirit lives on through them.

Someone even commented on how she will never grow old but will be forever 37. Then it hit me. WHO AM I to complain about turning 40? What is the alternative? How dare I complain about something that she would have given ANYTHING to have?

Nothing like a little perspective.

Enjoy each and every day. Every single one.

Oh, and if you can get away with it, possibly put high fructose corn syrup in your skinny friend's granola bars.

Love,
Melissa