39 and feeling mostly fine

I woke up this morning as a 39-year-old woman. Somehow, I am here, the last year of my thirties. My day started at 3:30AM when I went in to console my screaming 10.5-month-old, who is not only teething but also dripping snot out of both nostrils thanks to a cold she probably picked up from shoving germy plastic dinosaurs in her mouth at the library.

I went to bed at 9PM last night, a gift from past-me, who clearly knew I’d spend nearly two hours of my first day as a 39-year-old rocking a sick, teething (lethal combo) baby in a pitch-black room. Somewhere between trying not to lose my patience and her Darth Vader baby breathing, I realized… my birthday isn’t about me anymore. Actually, my life isn’t about me anymore! The real reason I went to bed so early was exhaustion from back-to-back Halloween weekends. Sure, my daughter is barely one, but I am a Halloween girlie, and there was no way I was going to go mild for her first one. Yesterday we went to a Día De Los Muertos celebration at our local cemetery, and while I assumed she’d nap like a champ after a long day of puppet shows and marigolds, I was wrong. She stayed wide awake until bedtime, and by the end of the day, my tank was several levels below empty. I fell asleep sitting up on the couch watching The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City.

I don’t say this “it’s not about me anymore” thing for sympathy. I say it because it’s true. In some ways, it’s freeing, not having to obsess over the meaningless little things I used to have the time to obsess over. Now the real estate in my brain is eaten up by nap navigating, snot-sucking (oddly satisfying), and wondering what her birthday party theme should be. Of course, I’m one of the lucky ones. I have amazing childcare, some family nearby, a wonderful and supportive husband, and a career that lets me call the shots. It’s not like I’m disappearing into the motherhood abyss with zero resources or time to myself. I do get alone time - usually in my parked car while staring into space or wandering the various neighborhood dollar stores (of which there are many), buying stickers and neon-colored loofahs I don’t need and never use. But my life used to revolve around me. And therefore, so did my birthdays. My annual karaoke birthday bash is no more (for now, at least). Tonight it will be a quick dinner out with a side of anxiety that the babysitter (grandma) will forget one step of the probably-too-many-step bedtime routine. This new season of life has been bittersweet, occasionally flat-out dreadful, and wildly profound. I’ve basically watched myself trade in main character energy for a mom who carries five different hand sanitizer sprays at all times (they clearly didn’t work this time). What was once a day (and life) riddled with me, me, me is now a constant game of “What did she just put in her mouth???” And yet, here I am, receiving birthday texts from friends asking, “What are you going to do today!?” Well, to answer that question, my plans consist of chasing a snotty-nosed, almost-walking Tasmanian devil around the house, avoiding slipping on puddles of her drool, and trying to pee at least once by myself.

Many of my friendships have shifted, too. Some have softened, some have quietly drifted away, and some now feel like tiny beacons of sanity in a life full of smoothie melts. Nobody tells you how motherhood casually flips your social world upside down. Well, they allude to it, but you really just don’t know until you know. It’s not dramatic; it’s more like a lot of the people who used to be front-and-center in your life now mostly exist in the background - just like you! One minute you’re making plans with someone for something with an 8PM start time, and the next you’re responding to a text from a week ago with a thumbs-up emoji and a frantic “omg sorry!!!” from the rocking chair. It’s no one’s fault really; I guess it’s just what happens when life evolves and a baby hogs the spotlight you used to hog.

Despite all of that, I love my new life. I really, really do. I love the chaotic, sticky, watered-down-because-it-sat-on-the-counter-for-too-long iced coffee reality of it. I love that my birthday plans now consist of hoping Luna naps long enough for me to reply to my birthday texts and cleaning pacifiers that have fallen on the floor for the 15th time… with my mouth. Maybe it’s not as exciting as it used to be, but it’s mine, in all its unpredictable, slightly boring, snot-covered glory.

Alright, 39, here we go.

xo, Bethany