Depending on when you are reading this it is either about to be my birthday or it is my birthday.
“Yay, Happy Birthday Molly”
I can hear you all saying/typing and thank you that is lovely but
I mainly hate my birthday. I have written before about having a complex relationship with my birthday and at one point the 40th birthday party that Michael threw for me made me feel positive warm thoughts about the annual day of my birthday but as the years have gone by that seems to have slowly diminished and I am back to place where I wish we could just skip it. Actually the real truth is I wish I could turn the clock back.
Oh I know I am meant to embrace it, I am meant to celebrate that I am in my 40’s, it is meant to be liberating and fabulous. Kick arse older women are all the rage after all, expect there is somewhere in my head where I think/believe/know that it is all bullshit spouted by women to make them feel better about getting older. After all, there is nothing you can do about it, you can’t turn the clock back, you just have to go on, so why not embrace it and celebrate it, own it, right? Well I try, really fucking hard but sometimes in those private moments when no one is looking but me and I see the crows feet around my eyes, the grey hair that every time the dye washes out shows itself to be increasing dominating my hair, the wattle I am starting to sport beneath my chin, the fact that gravity is constantly tugging at my tits and I even like my tits, but damn can they just stop moving south for like 5 minutes I hate the fact I am getting older. Sometimes it is almost shocking to me how much I have changed in the last 5 years. I look back at pictures of me in my late 30’s and I think I still looked youthful and now I feel like I have to search for that in my face and sadly increasingly in other parts of my body too.
Don’t get me wrong I am not going to start ‘dressing my age‘ or throw out my heels and replace them with a collection of sensible brogues, or cash in my lingerie collection for some of those big cotton pants (just to be clear if those are your thing then yay for you, nothing wrong with them, they are just not my thing) I shall continue to be me, because mainly I don’t feel 45, I feel pretty much like I did when I was 37 but my body, well my body is betraying me and not just in the way it looks but in the way it acts too. I have noticed that my metabolism has slowed down and that no matter how much exercise I do, which used to burn off the calories I now need to drastically reduce the calorie intake to try to shift even a few pounds. It is just all really fucking annoying. I am not ready for this. I liked it how it was before much better than this.
I pretty much hate being 45, I am definitely not one of those women who all rar rar 40’s are epic and I am currently in complete denial that 50 might ever be a thing for me one day. It is not that I am unhappy in my life, I am not. I have the most amazing husband, I have a safe and secure home, my kids are happy and healthy, I am even for the first time in my life carving out something I think you can call a career for myself (those are not words I ever thought I would write) but I just wish the years where not spinning by quite to fast as they are and most of all I wish they would stop leaving their mark on me, they are not the kind of marks that make my cunt wet.
I have seriously thought about deleting this post. I am pretty sure I sound like a self-absorbed bitter knob and I really am not but these are complex and challenging thoughts and emotions that are for me all wrapped up in powerful feelings that I also battle with that I wasted the best years of my life sitting at home being a good wife and Mother. When I was truly young and nubile I failed to enjoy it. I read books, had fantasies, kept secrets but I didn’t DO any of it and yes I have regrets about that. I making for up for it now but that does not mean that I don’t sometimes feel very angry about that wasted time and when I say angry I mean rage worthy type anger. Aging doesn’t help that battle one little bit I have found. They are in fact personal battles that are tied up fairly tightly together. They are not fun, or pretty or nice or sexy, they make me feel raw and emotional and they bring out the worst in me. I am not proud of any of these feelings, in fact I actually feel quite ashamed of them but deleting them from this page isn’t going to help with that one little bit, in fact it will probably only make it worst so here I am on my birthday eve spewing some pretty ugly shit because holding it in sure has not helped silence it so maybe showing it some light might work. In fact, oddly, surprisingly even, as I read this back I feel incredibly calm having written this and even like maybe lurking somewhere inside me right now is the faint glimmer of something that might possibly be happy anticipation about my birthday tomorrow.
Michael just finished proofreading this for me and when I said it is horrible isn’t it, I am horrible, he turned to me and said.
“No not at all, it is you being open and honest about a subject that you find difficult, there is nothing horrible about that. And just so you know, despite the fact that you see your birthday this way, I see it as a day to celebrate that you are you and here with me. It is a day to be happy and for me to show you just how much you mean to me and I am sorry I have not been able to change how you feel about your birthday but I am never going to stop trying. And you should always remember that all the people who wish send you birthday wishes tomorrow they are doing it for that reason too.”
And that is just one of the many reasons he is the best husband EVER
And for those leaving birthday wishes, thank you, I really do mean that, it is a lovely and welcomed and fabulous just if I am little quiet about it, well that maybe be because I am off in the woods somewhere with my camera ignoring the fact that I am another year older in the best way I know how…