Wednesday, February 10, 2010

February: Old Age

Oh look: It's February. Lots of things have happened in the 10 days of February that have already elapsed. Here are a few:
  • CJ and his girlfriend (!) were written up at school for kissing by her locker. I had forgotten that public displays of affection are outlawed at school. Honestly I was just glad that this time he hadn't been in a fight.
  • I got into a hit and run crash on the 3rd. Very scary. My beloved Saturn VUE is going to be in the shop until at least the 19th.
  • Meredith started in the gifted program at school, made it into the talent show, and continues to be so booked with activities that she has to consult her calendar before making plans. She's 9.
  • We're in crunch-mode at work. I mostly enjoy crunch time, but not when it requires days worth of a most dreaded activity. I've developed a twitch in my left eyelid while doing said activity. I'm convinced it is psychosomatic, and that's hilarious.
  • Tim has been coordinated by the lovely and talented Tracy, and there's apparently some to-do afoot for my upcoming birthday. We don't usually do a lot of to-doing as regards my birthday. I'm thrilled and nervous. Speaking of my birthday...

I'm turning 36 this month. Day after tomorrow, actually. I've been having a constant feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach regarding this, even as I fully recognize just how ridiculous that is. Age Aint Nuthin But a Number, (whatup ghost of Alyiah!) and all. I know. It's petulant and privileged, and oh my god, Becky, look at her butt (and that was two (count 'em!) TWO early nineties song references right there!) and everything, but there it is: I'm having Gettin' Old anxiety.

Starting sometime some number of years ago around this pre-birthday time (how's that for specific?), I realized that I remembered my mother being the age I was about to be. That was unsettling. I approached thirty with the idea that I was going to dread it, every minute of it... but that never happened. I love my early thirties. Or, at least, I've loved my early thirties. 30 turned out to be great. I felt like I finally "came into my own", as They say. I took charge of my own life, made really positive changes, and feel super proud and good about the result.

35, on the other hand, was upsetting. Suddenly I was being addressed by pharmaceutical companies and tv doctors and other forms of media in a whole new way. Not as a desired consumer, but as a warned consumer. "Women over 35 should consult their doctor before...", "Women 35 and older should not...", etc etc. If I want to have another baby, I'm "high risk". 35 was a whole new ball game.

And so now I'm about to turn 36. That's "late thirties" by any definition. Ugh.