My 30th birthday is one month away and fast approaching. I dread turning 30. It seems like it's the top of the hill and the rest of my life will be down the other side of that hill. I remember being 16 and 18 years old and seeing a 30-year old and thinking, "Wow, 30 is so old. I'm glad I'm still young." I don't
feel that old, but I think the numbers are telling. And anyone who's over 30 and reading this will probably think, "Oh please, you're just a baby." But let's get real here, people. Thirty is no baby. I've been alive for 30 years. That's a really long time.
In fact, the other day, Chad said "...back when we were young and in love. Well, we're still in love, but we're not young anymore." I was washing my hands, so I flicked water on his face and said, "Speak for yourself!" But he's right.
And it's starting to show. The lines on my face aren't very bad, thanks to years of anti-aging products, but they're there. And I've got some new spider veins on my legs (that's probably more due to pregnancy, but still). And my breasts sag down half way to my belly button (that's more breastfeeding for a total of 46 months, but still).
I'm not young and spry anymore. I can't stay up much past 10 pm, and I don't like to get up the next morning. I get back pain, and my body gets tired much more quickly than it did 5 years ago. I already have high cholesterol, thanks to some bad genes and my love of butter. That's only going to get worse with age, my cholesterol I mean, not my love of butter.
And my evil metabolism slowed down by about 50 miles an hour. Here's a confession I've told few people because it's so awful: Right from when I turned 29 (last August) till I got pregnant in April, I gained 8 pounds! Eight pounds in 6 months! Didn't change my eating habits at all and was still working out 4-5 days a week for an hour or more each time. Just turned 29, that's all. Lousy metabolism!
Oh, and I STILL HAVE PIMPLES!!!!!! If I'm going to be old, can't I at least have a clear face? What the heck?
And I still haven't published a single thing! (Except for a poem in a totally random Canadian magazine, so that doesn't really count). I've got to finish all those novels I've started and work on publication. In fact, in my long life, I've accomplished nothing at all of significance, aside from having two children and raising them reasonably well (which is a pretty big accomplishment).
All you optimists out there will probably respond, "Be happy. Thirty is the prime of life. Wait till you're forty. Then your metabolism will really slow down, and your body will really not feel young and spry. Forget about ever running a half-marathon again then. Enjoy the life you have right now." Most of me realizes that this is true. I'm sure after awhile of being 30, I'll feel better about it. But right now, with those horrible numbers looming before me, I don't like it. I don't want to be over the hill. I don't want other 16 year olds looking at me and thinking, "Eww, she's old."
I think the only advantage to being 30 is that I'll be taken slightly more seriously. Once you're in your 30's, it's kind of like you've arrived, you're a real adult; not one of those people in her 20's, wavering between teenage-hood and adulthood.
Over two years ago, for Christmas, Chad gave me a cookbook: Barefoot Contessa Family Style. I thought I would cook through it so I could learn a lot and become a better cook. This was long before anyone had ever heard of Julie and Julia, so don't think I'm just a big copy cat.
