Today is my birthday! I am 42 years old. 42 is my lucky number so this is going to be a great year. Right? I mean, I have it tattooed on the back of my neck. It’s classier than that sounds, I think. I hope.
Actually, 42 was my dad’s lucky number, but I’ve co-opted it. I don’t think he’d mind. When I was born, as the story goes, the doctor asked for the time of birth. He said 4:24. I mean, I assume I was born around 4:24. I don’t think my dad was just allowed to make up a time for his beloved baby girl’s birth certificate. Who knows? This story kind of falls apart if you look too closely. Nevertheless, 42. Lucky number. Oh, and I’m older than Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, in case you were wondering. (Spoiler alert.)
So how is 42 going to be an awesome year?
Well, for one thing, I’m going to keep going to the gym. But not for the reason most people go to the gym. I’m not interested in losing X pounds by some arbitrary date. Instead, I’m getting strong. My goal for 42 is to gain muscle. That’s it.
Also, this is 2017. Years ending in 7 have always been special to me. Well, I mean, for the past few decades. In 1997, I lived in London with my best friends, and it changed the course of my life. I wouldn’t have run a marathon or met my husband or gone on an amazing trip if I hadn’t made the decision to move there for six months when I was 22.
In 2007, I gave birth to three perfect little boys. Well, they were perfect for about six weeks, and then they stopped sleeping and started drooling and crawling and talking back and whining and setting up musical.ly accounts and being generally like normal children. But I adore them wholeheartedly, even when they post terrible pictures of me on their Instagram accounts.
I hope that 2017 will mean travel and friends and wine and kids and love.
Now, getting older ain’t all sunshine and roses and kids who can dress themselves.
Things that suck about getting older:
You’ll start to get random aches and pains. Now if you sleep funny, your neck will hurt. Your back will hurt randomly. Your feet will start bothering you. Just because. Why not?
It’s harder to lose weight. Before I got married at the tender age of 30, I lost 40 lbs pretty easily. I went to Weight Watchers, followed the plan, voila! Now, when I try to lose weight, my body laughs at me and holds tight to the pounds like Scrooge McDuck and his coins. That’s part of the reason I’ve stopped putting so much emphasis on the number on the scale and more on how I can see the muscles in my arms and legs.
Your memory starts to go. Like, the other day, I was trying to remember … oh, something. I can’t remember. But it’s annoying. I think. I should probably start to do Sodoku or something.
People stop celebrating birthdays.
What’s up with that? I still love my birthday and you better believe I want to celebrate it every year. I don’t care how old I get! I want to spend it surrounded by loved ones, and preferably with a massage and a good meal thrown in there as well. If all else fails, I at least want to get in a good workout to remind myself that getting older means getting better. And of course, there must be cake.