Or, as my friend Melanie put it, I entered my fifth decade of life. Thanks, Mel. I needed that.
I like my mom's philosophy better: she says I'm just 39 years and 366 days old. In other words, it's just another day. Big freakin' deal. And it beats the alternative -- at least I'm still on top of the grass instead of under it.
So far I don't think I mind being 40. I'm a little confused as to how I got to be this old -- I don't remember 40 years passing. But I think there are some advantages to being a woman of a certain age. Like being comfortable in my own skin. And enjoying my own company. And not having anything to prove to anyone anymore. And not having to shave my legs on any sort of regular basis. After all, it's not like anyone besides me is likely to see or touch them anytime soon.
As I get older I find I'm appreciating my girlfriends more. Like, for instance, the ones who took me out for pizza and ice cream on Friday night. These girls make me laugh on a daily basis. Their emails, phone calls, text messages and IMs are the highlights of my day. On Friday they proved they know me well: their birthday gifts included margarita mix, peanut butter cookies, and a button that said "Sarcasm: Now Served Daily!"
Another set of girlfriends made breakfast for me on Sunday, fussed over my daughter, and listened while I bitched about my employment status and getting old, among other things.
A college friend saw this photo and named us the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse. I decided I must be Death -- my friend Emily (second from left) claimed Pestilence, I'm too non-confrontational to be War, and I weigh too much to be Famine.
Check out yesterday's post by moi over at the Ohio Moms Blog!