by Lisa Curry
Yesterday, October 9, was my 45th birthday.
I didn’t like turning 40. I didn’t like turning 44, either. In fact, I believe that last year at this time, I wrote what I titled, “Bad Birthday Blog.”
But to my surprise, I’ve found that I like being 45. I like it very much, for reasons I can’t quite explain.
Being overloaded with projects to the point that I’ve had to work the past two weekends, I couldn’t take the day off work. And because my sons had midget football practice and a school open house in the evening, I couldn’t do anything after work to celebrate. My husband is making a cash contribution to my new-washer-and-dryer fund for my birthday, so I didn’t have a gift to open, either.
Despite being just another day in that sense, my birthday had its share of special moments. My co-workers surprised me with two cakes and a peach pie for a birthday dessert after lunch. I had a piece of all three. My husband gave me a birthday card that made me laugh. And my firstborn made me a card with the number “45” handwritten all over the front of it in multi-colored magic marker, because the Hallmark store didn’t offer a single card especially for someone who’s 45 – a fact which seemed to surprise him.
All day long, I kept thinking about being 45 and smiling. It seemed like a milestone, like a significant birthday. Like I’d achieved a whole new level of grownupness. Although I must confess, when I said that to one of the co-workers who bought me a cake, he replied, “Lisa, let us not confuse age with maturity,” which made me laugh. Then he added, “And by the way, I don’t think ‘grownupness’ is a real word.”
Well, of course it’s not, but that’s how I feel. I’ve reached an age at which I think maybe, finally, I know who I am and what I want. And what I want is what I have – a good job doing work I love with people I truly enjoy, a terrific husband who makes me laugh every day, and two kids who are smart, good-looking, athletic, and haven’t quite yet reached the stage of odious adolescence. What more could I ask for?
I’d venture to say that 45 is my favorite age so far.
What’s yours, and why?