40

Way back in November, when I first turned 40, I though, "What's the big deal?"

And I meant it. It didn't feel like a big deal. 40 didn't feel all the different from 39.

I've laughed hard and often at my dear friend Mandy (who doesn't read this blog, I'm sad to say) over the fact that age is a big deal to her. She had a really tough time when she turned 30. I thought it was funny. Heck, it IS funny.

But...last week I had an appointment to have my eyes checked. I have to drive over an hour one way once a year to have my eyes checked in order to keep my warranty current. I had lasik surgery way back when I was 37 and if I ever need the surgery again, the warranty will allow me to do so at a drastically reduced price.

So, I drove.

And as I sat my ample bottom in the chair all prepared to have my eyes gazed into by a professional, I was asked my age.

And I said without hesitation, "Forty."

The word rang in my head. It bounced back and forth against my skull. Forty. Four times ten. FORTY.

Forty felt so much more grown up and...well, OLD, than 39 ever did.

I know, it's insane. It's just a number. But it's a BIG FREAKING number.

40.

I often wonder...if I'd had kids at an age younger than 32 would I still feel so amazed that I'm the mother? Would I sometimes look at these two little people and awe and wonder what in the world my own mother and husband are thinking when they leave me in charge of A and O? I'm not an adult. I often still feel like that 25 year old I was who packed her 1994 Dodge Shadow full of every single one of her belongings and drove out of Indianapolis on on Saturday morning in May, heading north to Chicago, to start a new job, a new life.

But I'm not 25 anymore.

I'm forty. And it's actually scarier than I thought it would be.

But you know what?

I wouldn't change the life I have now, at 40, for that life I had fifteen years ago, when I was 25. The body? Sure, any day of the week. But the life? Not for any price. Not ever.

I sometimes look around myself at the house that I bought, the children that I bore, the man I married and I pray that I'm not still 27, living in an apartment in Chicago, all alone, dreaming this wonderful, hectic life. Please, please don't let this be a dream.

Even if I have to be forty in real life, let this not be a dream.