So on Tuesday I turned 43. Whoa!
Forty-three. 15,695 days lived, and counting. It’s an age I never contemplated, and while I don’t fear being in my forties, this particular number (and everything after it) seriously has never come to mind. The last year I can say “early forties” because next year it becomes “mid-forties”. It’s just…strange! I’m still amazed that I have siblings in their 50’s…dude.
Perhaps it’s entering into this next year feeling so physically vulnerable that’s making me think about this new year. Awash in hormones, changing positions five times in ten minutes as I write to minimize the feeling of my spine reaching through my lower back as the healing seems to be at a standstill (I just had my first chiropractor visit yesterday, since my PT can usually only fit me in twice a month, which is just not enough…hoping that kicks things into high gear!), and of course full of the blessings (not) of estrogen that have finally made me say, fuck it, if I want to eat bread, I’ll eat bread, dammit!
While it wasn’t my normal style for birthdays, as I prefer to leave town for a long weekend (which was impossible since I can’t ride in a car for more than 15 minutes without extreme discomfort), it was still lovely…kid-inspired art to keep up the final round optimism, and a garnet necklace from a local artist (my birthstone), along with planting me a dogwood tree in the backyard – plus a bouquet of yellow gerbera daisies the night before…not to mention great food – hot cuppa chai and breakfast croissant sandwiches with my husband’s homemade bacon (YUM), a standing vegan lunch at Harlow (I adore their food and they have bar seating so I could stand and eat), and Italian food delivered (mmm, carbonara and tiramisu..) from a local restaurant as we watched Evita on DVD. Good stuff!
One bonus? I *did* survive 90 minutes in the “womb” chair at my esthetician’s for a truly divine facial…
So heck yeah, I’m 43. What’s it to ya? 🙂