of September birthday blogging women.
Today, I am no longer teetering on the sharp and pokey fence of 40. I am 41. That bully pushed me over directly into the 40′s. How’s it look from here? Hmm. Days are longer; nights are shorter; energy level is lower than my Kid’s, but may be the same as it ever was.
I’m not into the I’m-so-much-more-myself, or a more natural woman, or deserving r-e-s-p-e-c-t or any other Aretha Franklin song….. I am more mellow, tolerant, patient, and compassionate (nowhere to go but up!), but all that arose not from my age, but from the “Motherhood” chapter of life. I think.
But, really, what is a birthday now, at my age? Parties are not the thrill they once were (unless they are somewhere I don’t have to clean up!). Birthdays surface as markers, buoys, reminders of life, its beginning, its end. By now, I’ve seen the beginnings of people and the ends of people. That kid on the playground? I remember his swollen mom in childbirth class. That guy playing ping pong with us in the picture? He was your great-grandpa you didn’t get to meet, Kid.
September for me now is full of birthdays of people who have passed, the grandparent types in my life. I miss them. Guess I’m gettin’ old. Better than the alternative, huh (add slap on back)!
See, you get old, and you get corny, not horny. Corny.
Now, where’d I put my margarita?