The F-Word: Forty

As I write this, I have a scant few days left in my 30s. My family and friends have been tossing the "f-word" around in my direction for months now: forty. A whole new decade, and although Google does not consider forty middle age, I'm keenly aware that a lot of people do (I'm firmly with Google on this one). My granddaddy used to always say that getting older beats the alternative--because if you aren't aging, you're dead, and I see the wisdom in that...it's just that I seem to be leaving my good ol' youth in the rear view mirror and it's not easy to let go.

According to the Internet, I'm not there yet. Preach it, Google. 

When someone in their thirties does something stupid, people assume it's part of a learning curve. When someone in their forties does something stupid, people assume it's because they are an idiot. Yikes. This new decade I'm about to embark upon also means a whole new check box on forms in the "age" category. I keep seeing articles with titles like "40 Things To Do Before You Turn 40" or "What To Expect at 40," and I'm not reading a word of it. I already know too much. Apparently, this is the turning of a page. It means I get to experience a mammogram in all its glory, something I have been dreading pretty much since the time someone told me what a mammogram was, everyone's talking about hormone changes, and now, apparently, I have to think about fun, exciting things like triglycerides. I've obviously known I would turn forty at some point, I just didn't think it would happen so soon. I mean, the 1990s were just a decade or so ago, right? I was just in college, wasn't I?

But there have been some subtle indications that I *might* be getting a bit older. Where I used to blatantly ignore face creams and lotions, I have suddenly developed a fixation with anything that bills itself as anti-aging/wrinkle preventing/fine line reducing/skin renewing. Every night before bed, I'm like a chemist with all my vials and tubes and bottles of what I'm really hoping are miracle products. I've also already earmarked a portion of my future lottery winnings for Botox and varicose vein treatments.

Our Friday nights now consist of dinner at Jason's Deli on a very regular (read: predictable) basis, which may or may not be followed by a visit to the bookstore. We are back home by 8:30, in pajamas and anxiously awaiting Dateline. Of course, we do vary our routine somewhat: some weekends, we skip the free ice cream at Jason's and get coffee at the bookstore. Occasionally (and very disappointingly), Dateline won't air and we will watch something in Netflix instead. We've also become big fans of jigsaw puzzles and have discovered that 1,000 pieces will fill Saturday and Sunday afternoons quite nicely.

I get mysterious aches and unexplained pains now; my back will hurt for no particular reason, and thanks to my broken ankle from two football seasons ago, I always know when it's about to rain. Vitamins and supplements are part of my regular rotation, and I never travel any more without my freezer bag full of medicines to cure whatever might ail us while we are away from home (although my mom has pointed out that I only use a gallon size bag, whereas she is up to a two gallon bag, so it's nice to know I still have room to grow). We now make low calorie, low carb "noodles" out of zucchini or carrots, and our rice is made of cauliflower. So are our mashed "potatoes," come to think of it...maybe that's part of getting older? You replace things that give you joy with cauliflower?

Since I am being labeled with this f-word, I feel a small victory any time I discover a celebrity A-lister who is older than I am: I think of Reese Witherspoon and Jimmy Fallon as forever young, and it gives me great joy knowing they are both several years my senior--well, two and three years, respectively. Ashton Kutcher, Jennifer Aniston, and Drew Barrymore? All older than yours truly. You can't hear it, but I'm singing Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" to myself right this very minute.

In fact, before you get ready to put the tennis balls on my walker, I should also add that I still retain a healthy dose of youthful vitality. I have never stopped sleeping with the security blanket I've had since I was a baby, I have a deep, unapologetic love for Lucky Charms cereal, I remain a night owl who loves to sleep late, and I still threaten to roll people's yards (do kids today even roll yards anymore? Or if there just some app that lets them virtually toilet paper someone's house? Sigh.) And just this week, a nurse practitioner told me during my appointment that I am what they call "AYTS"--appears younger than stated. If that won't put a spring back in your step, go ahead and order your Life Alert and and pour yourself a glass of prune juice. I'm fighting the good fight, even if these birthdays do keep coming and coming.

Don't get me wrong, I still love a birthday and I will, in usual fashion, milk it for all it is worth. Birthday month commences this weekend, and since it coincides with Easter and we will be at my parents' house, my mom is the grand marshal of this year's festivities. After that, I've already made plans for cocktails, a brunch, and two celebratory dinners, so I think birthday month is shaping up nicely. Oh, and lest I forget: I decided it must be impossible to feel old while drinking an umbrella drink out of a coconut shell, so we are going to put that theory to the test by spending the week of my f-word birthday in Tahiti, sunning ourselves and enjoying one of those over water bungalows with the thatched roof. Come to think of it, maybe forty isn't going to be so bad after all. No matter what, you can bet I will keep you posted.