It’s my birthday tomorrow and I have to confess that I’m not very big on birthdays. Other peoples birthdays I love. Mine? Not so much. But actually Timehop threw up an old blog post from five years ago today that really did make me smile and made me realise that maybe birthdays aren’t so bad after all.
I was whining (as I often did five years ago – surprise surprise!) about the fact that I was about to turn thirty three. THIRTY THREE! I was just a baby! That whole confidence thing that kicks in in your thirties clearly hadn’t quite happened yet. Although with me I’d say that it was more of an ability to give less of a fig than a confidence thing. Or maybe they’re the same thing? But anyway that whole ‘your thirties are the best years of your life’ thing still hadn’t quite clicked for me. At that point it all felt like a big fat fib.
All of those magazine articles that I had read over the previous ten years promised me that turning thirty would be like a magic wand. All of those insecurities that hampered my twenties would vanish overnight. But they didn’t, clearly. I was still waiting for everything to click into place at thirty three but I can’t even remember feeling this way now. Looking back, I can’t pinpoint when that whole thing happened but I suspect that it was more of a gradual process than the BOOM! that the magazine articles once promised me. And sitting here at almost thirty eight, I’m very much in the ‘the thirties are the best days of your life’ camp. Well they are definitely my best yet anyway. Funny, isn’t it?
I still stand by the fact that age is just a number though. It really is just a number. It doesn’t actually make me feel any older that’s for sure. I don’t think I’ll ever feel my age. I mean thirty eight sounds positively ancient, doesn’t it? Especially compared to my whines about turning thirty three for goodness sake. How can I possibly be thirty eight? But actually I’ve realised that most people never quite feel old enough to be a grown up. We’re all making it up as we go along and playing along at this whole being a grown up lark. And that’s okay. In fact I’m totally okay with the fact that so many other people feel just as unqualified to be a grown up as I do.
So tomorrow might happen to be my birthday but it is just another day. I will wake up technically a day older, not a whole year older. But just like any other day, I hope I will have a nice day. Mr Mostly has taken the day off work (he didn’t even take his own birthday off work!) so I’m thinking that actually it is already set to be a very nice day. There are plans for shopping and burgers and cake. And candles that lie and say that I’m twenty seven again. It’s a bit of a standing joke now that I never admit to my real age and one that has been baffling my nine year old daughter now that she can actually work out the maths. But actually I’m okay with the fact that I’m thirty eight. Honestly and truly. I’m old enough to know that I’ll never be this young again for starters and that in five years time, I’ll be looking back on this and wishing that I was only thirty eight! Ha!