35 and Still Alive

I turn 35 on Tuesday. It's not a monumental birthday like 18, 21 or 50, but nonetheless, it's a birthday. At this point my daughter is more excited about my birthday than I am. I'm sure she envisions a celebration that will be similar to her recent Chuck E. Cheese party only with Mommy and all her fellow mommy friends.

I don't have the heart to tell her that the older you get the more your birthday just becomes another day. Sure, there will be the humorous card from my co-workers, a "happy birthday" wish from my husband along with a dig about how I'm getting older, so I should think seriously about giving him another baby, and I can almost lay money down that somewhere in the equation a cake will appear (although given my recent lack of exercise and consumption of Valentine's candy, I should be more cautious than I most likely will be).

The coolest thing about turning 35 is the realization that I'm at the happiest place I've been so far in my life. At age 5, I was being dragged away from my father across country by a mother who was running from demons, either real or imaginary, I'll never know. At 15, I was a zit-covered, hormonal ball of confusion who hated living in Idaho (not that that ever changed), and spent the bulk of her day dreaming about making life happen. At 25, I was in art school having a blast and actively working in the music industry, but I was also in a marriage that was quickly going South and dealing with clinical depression.

At 35, I have the great fortune of being bound for life to someone I'm completely in love with, I have an adorable (albeit, exhausting) child who makes me smile (and yell) everyday. We live in a cool house in a place that is sunny most days of the year. I have a decent career that may be a thorn in my ass (particularly right now) due to the workload, but has given me the opportunity to push myself professionally. I own a hybrid, have excellent cholesterol, and have only found 3 gray hairs, so far.

There are downsides. I was diagnosed this week with tension headaches, but that's better than something serious. All I have to do to relieve most of the stress causing the headaches, according to my doctor, is get back into my regular exercise routine. I need to drop 10-15 pounds (which also would be helped by said exercise routine), but I'm finally at a point in my life where I can have a piece of chocolate at night and not hate myself, because I don't look like a supermodel.

I can see why the world fears us women in our mid-30s. We are vital, running households, managing work environments, comfortable with our confidence, and don't give a fuck about what the world thinks of us. It's a good age. My only fear at this point is that it's all downhill from here, but given the fact that everything has been an upswing, I think I'll ride it out for at least another 50 years. Not an unreasonable life goal for a woman with the blood pressure of an 18 year old.