I know that someone will tease me about being “29 again” today. But really, as I stared at the little lines at the corners of my eyes this morning and decided to wear my favorite jeans, I really don’t mind being my age.
Here are the revelations I had while stretching my sore muscles this morning:
- My reputation will not fall because of my perpetually dirty house. But finding socks jammed between the sofa cushions still is gross.
- I am at the stage where my own kids say, “That would look good on you.” AKA: Mom-clothes.
- That saying age is just a number? No. It means I’m closer to retirement and discounts at restaurants. I’m going to be your cheap date.
- I’ll never be 29 again. Don’t ask me to do that. I was pregnant part of that year. And living in a travel trailer…in my parent’s front yard.
- There’s a special cream I have to use on my face for those little lines. Don’t laugh. Unless you use some too, your wrinkles will look worse than mine.
- So I color my hair? And get the occasional pedicure. It’s nice to take the time to visit with my mom and my friends.
- Sometimes I keep old shirts because of the memories (sorry Kathi Lipp).
- I don’t always return texts. I’m a jerk.
- Writing is so much more fun/stressful/rewarding than I thought it would be. And you may become a character in a book, so just keep that in mind.
- God is good. Even past 29. I realize that now more than ever. I mean, He knows the hairs on my head—including the gray ones (which I don’t even have).
Yes, there are a few things I do care about, but as a whole, I’m happy where I’m at. I love my morning coffee(s). It’s pure joy to watch my Things grow up—except on the mornings that they are not so sunny. My hubs is still my best friend and the love of my life—except for those socks. Ew, honey. Gross.
For everyone who has wished me “Happy Birthday,” thank you from the bottom of my nose ring.