Aged

So this is 40.

Huh.

Doesn't feel much different from 39.

To be honest, as I approached my fortieth birthday, I didn't feel the angst or sense of mortality that sometimes comes with these 'pivotal' birthdays.

It was just a day.

A nice day at that.

To be honest, I'm kind of excited to see what my forties bring.

I'm not sure this decade can outdo the last one, though.

I had a pretty good run in my thirties. I bought my first car (the previously mentioned Grand Prix that now has over three hundred thousand miles) I met Tom, gave birth to Alyssa, married Tom, gave birth to Olivia, bought a house.

All in all, pretty good for ten years of life.

So what's going to happen in my forties?

Will I change jobs?

Will I get healthy and be the best I've been in twenty years?

Will I continue to bitch and moan about my husband and quietly fear that my daughters deserve so much more than I'm giving them as a parent?

Or will I grow a pair, tell my husband what I actually need instead of expecting him to read my mind. Will I decide that perhaps being all mommy all the time isn't quite enough and take some time to rediscover Tommie?

Perhaps. Perhaps a bit of everything.

We'll see.

It may just be a sign of some newfound maturity that I spent most of my actual birthday painting our living room. It had this horrible stenciled border around the top of the walls and I couldn't stand it another day.

Of course, we're also having a party for a bazillion family members in just under two weeks and I needed to make the room presentable. But yeah, I painted. Rememberh how much I hate painting? Yes, I still hate it and yet I did it...on my birthday.

So go me, being all mature and all.