Happy 33 To Me
Hey, it’s my birthday, I’m gonna party like I’m responsible for keeping 3 small humans alive on my birthday. So maybe a glass of wine after they all go to bed.
That song was actually really popular on my birthday the year it came out (which I believe was in two thousand and OMG I am old) so I think of it as my birthday song. Just like probably 1/3rd of girls who were in college in that year probably do. I am nothing if not part of my generation.
33 is not a big or special birthday. I don’t have anything big or special planned and we will probably not celebrate in any memorable ways. But a bunch of small things have come together recently that lead me to believe 33 might be the age which I am officially an adult. And not only that, an adult who is pretty good at adulting sometimes.
I have a skin care routine. I realized those spots on my face weren’t just big freckles and I bought two different kinds of cream that have the words “anti-aging” in them and I reliably both put them on AND take my make-up off. I’ve never done that more than two days in a row before, but it’s been a couple weeks so maybe it stuck this time. Plus I expanded my makeup routine from “mascara and sometimes foundation” to “expensive mascara, primer, foundation and eyebrow gel”. I am probably the only one who can tell, but I FEEL more put together.
Along those same lines, I also a) have a standing appointment for a hair cut/color maintenance and b) wear earrings. Both tiny things that I always felt like I was never going to manage and yet now I have and do and it makes me happy every time I look in the mirror. Earrings! A lack of noticeable roots and split ends! Like a real grown up!
In the less superficial department, I also used my phone as an actual phone several times this week. I returned a call to get the kids set up for summer camp. I answered an unfamiliar number that ended up being Evan’s teacher. I moved my hair appointment. I called Nikon to find out what I could do about my broken camera. I called the camera supply place to find out if they could rush-ship a new one. I called and made the dermatologist appointment I hate making. Ok, that last one is a lie, I didn’t call yet. I hate the medical care on base and I have to see them to get a referral to a real derm and I hate the dermatologist in general because having my skin examined closely by ANYONE is horrifying. But I also don’t really want to die of skin cancer, so I’m definitely calling on Monday.
Other adulting skills I’ve mastered this year: Mailing things without standing in line at the post office. Going to the grocery store and not buying mostly ice cream. Taking out the trash. Talking to my kids’ teachers without feeling like I’m about to get in trouble. Recognizing when buying the more expensive version of something might be a better choice than buying the cheap thing. Making school lunches. Not staying up too late (most of the time).
My goal for the next year is to be an adult about my own self. I need to make wiser choices to be healthier. I need to stop eating my feelings. I need to use that wine-drinking time after bedtime to maybe do some push-ups. I also need to buy myself a pair of jeans that fit – just ONE PAIR – so I don’t have to wear yoga pants to yoga pant inappropriate locations, like dinner at restaurants with real silverware or all the birthday parties the kids are invited to this month. I can beat myself up over the size of my pants and losing baby weight afterward (because I am not sure I will ever be adult enough not to do that) but at least I can do it from the comfort of pants with a button that actually buttons.
So it’s not like I’ve discovered the secret of life or become wildly successful or been a perfect human/wife/mother but this year was pretty OK and I hope next year is even OK-er. Maybe on my 34th birthday I’ll be able to say I’ve successfully learned to spell the words “apartment” and “apparently” right on the first try. It’s good to have goals.