On Turning 40

Lordy lordy, I have turned 40.

Okay, I turned 40 a few months ago, but I'm starting to feel 40. And, I'm not happy.

For years, I was convinced that I was absolutely looking somewhere in the, oh, I don't know, age 30-35 range.

But, for the past few months, whenever I flash my signature smile, I see these tiny little creases under my eyes. Yes, I ran out to buy some of the most wildly expensive eye cream (I mean, c'mon, eye cream is like such a sign that you're getting older) and still, those little lines keep staring back at me.

When I was 39 years old, I could run a few miles and feel that oh-I-love-working-out soreness for the rest of the day. Now, at age 40, when I work out, I feel like I need to sleep it off. For real. Today, for example, my family asked if I wanted to watch the 2+ hour movie, The Martian. I said, "hell no. I want to go to bed by 11pm!" My son, he's 6, said, "But, Mom, it's only 6:30pm."

Silence, boy. Silence. I don't remember asking you any questions.

My feet hurt at the end of the day. I stretch constantly because I feel my bones shrinking. And, I'm just waiting -- just waiting -- for that moment of instantaneous happenings when my current contact lens prescription just isn't cutting it anymore. According to my dad, an eye doctor, it happens just moments after you blow the candles out on your 4-0 cake.

The good news about being 40, though, is that I totally think I rock. Yes, that's right. I'm much more confident at 40. I'm much more aware of who I am at 40. I'm much more kind at 40.

Except right now. With my achy back. My grumpy disposition. My failing eye sight.

Is it time for bed, yet?

Forty winks,

Liza