Twelve Days

I have twelve days until I turn 40. Twelve more days until the sun rises on a person who feels half that age. Well, if not half, at least a quarter.

I don't know why forty looms large on my horizon. Honestly, as much as I dread it, I have no doubt it will be anticlimactic. I will wake up and it will be...Sunday. With work the next day, friends in town, breakfast to make, maybe some champagne to drink. And then...I'll go to work on Monday, remember I have a parent-teacher conference, and the year will continue to cycle through.

But I'll be forty.

Maybe it's because at my age my mom had two daughters out of the house and was going back to school. I remember how proud I was of her - at her advanced age - going to college. Now? I don't feel like forty is at all advanced.

Maybe it's because at my age my grandma was, well, a grandma. Complete with knitted booties and glasses.

Maybe it's because I thought by the time I entered my fifth decade - is that right? fifth?? - I would know something, anything. Am I wiser than I was when I was twenty? Undoubtedly. Am I wiser than I was at thirty? Maybe?

I know I'm less likely to care what other people think. That was something that came somewhat gradually. It started when Chad gave me the courage to draw boundaries in my twenties and continued when he moved out and suddenly my life was spread out naked, a light shining unrelentingly on its imperfections. I couldn't hide behind the screen of family happiness any longer and instead, the world - or my world - saw every stretch mark and lump, ever fold and crease. And it was okay. I still have moments of panic when I wonder if I'm enough for the people in my life, but the feeling quickly passes and I realize I'm who I am and that's more than okay. I own the things that make me me. I'm someone who is always late, will never remember birthdays, forgets to take the trash to the curb, and can't find her way out of her own neighborhood if she takes a wrong turn.

Still...I suppose I thought I'd be an adult.

But what is an adult?

I have a job, children, a car. I pay my taxes, own matching furniture, and serve good wine at dinner. I argue with insurance companies, research braces, and take deep breaths when my children get on my last nerve. Is that an adult?

Because I also still like to swing on the playground, turn clumsy cartwheels on the grass, run into the ocean, finger paint, and think knock knock jokes are awesome. I bounce in my seat when a new episode of Doctor Who is announced and talk in depth about the Marvel Universe with Joseph. I play video games, cheat at Monopoly, and can't keep my houseplants alive. I believe in Santa.

I read somewhere that there is no such thing as grown ups. That some people just pretend with more authority. I wonder how well I pretend.