Updated: Aug. 13, 2023
Originally Published: Aug. 3, 2023
Well, my family certainly made sure I wouldn’t forget my birthday! On the morning of my 40th, my phone buzzed at 8:29 AM, and there were my parents, belting out “Happy Birthday” into my voicemail while I fought to steal a few more moments of sleep (and, if I’m honest, some denial too). My husband was busy wrangling our rambunctious 6-year-old and our curious 2-year-old in the living room of our cozy rental in North Carolina, where we were enjoying a family vacation. A little while later, they burst in with gifts: shiny rocks from the gem mine we visited and a sparkling new necklace.
As the day went on, my mom surprised me with a chocolate birthday cake from a local bakery. The frosting read, “Happy, Happy Birthday BUNNY,” which felt almost surreal. “I had to spell ‘Bunny’ for the baker three times!” she exclaimed when I expressed my gratitude. It seems perfectly normal to her to call a 40-year-old mother of four “Bunny,” and honestly, maybe it is. After all, I’ll likely do the same for my little one when he turns 40!
So, this is what it means to be 40. I find myself feeling both flattered and doubtful when people don’t believe my age—and a bit crushed when they do. It’s the age where I finally admit I need an actual skincare routine, even if it just involves washing my face before bed. I’ve started noticing those tiny lines above my lip—lines I used to associate with my grandmother—and I’ve made regular visits to the dermatologist a new norm instead of a rare occurrence.
Forty is strolling into a baby store and realizing I know very few people who are in the market for pacifier clips or sleep sacks any time soon. After over a decade in the “baby zone,” I’m transitioning; by this time next year, I won’t have any kids in diapers. It’s a mix of excitement, a hint of sadness, and a dash of fear—all due to the thought of public restrooms. Mostly exciting, though.
At 40, I can’t help but roll my eyes at the Fifty Shades of Grey trailer—feeling both horrified and a smidge curious about what they will actually show. And hey, Sonny Crockett’s daughter is starring? OMG! (Side note: how about a middle-aged version with Rob Lowe and, I don’t know, maybe Drew Barrymore? I’m not fussed about the female lead, as long as it’s Rob Lowe.)
Forty also means I have an account on caringbridge.org to keep up with friends battling cancer. Yes, “friends”—plural. It’s a sobering experience, feeling grateful for the chance to support them while hating the circumstances. Cancer truly is the worst.
I’ve embraced Facebook, dabbled in Twitter, and given Instagram a try, but Snapchat? No thanks. Vine feels like work, and Tumblr? I’m lost. And don’t even get me started on Kik—I can’t even pronounce that!
I find myself pondering if it’s too late to master the art of eyeliner application. I’m also too old to tolerate nonsense from people or to spend time with those I don’t enjoy. It’s getting easier by the minute to heed my 2-year-old daughter’s advice and “let it gooooo.”
I’m not too old, however, to feel a twinge of sadness that Adam Levine just tied the knot. And as I contemplate whether my heart-printed sweatpants are too “young” for public outings, I justify that they’re subdued. But maybe I should avoid wearing them while binge-watching Good Luck Charlie for the third time—just to be safe.
I’m starting to accept that kale and Brussels sprouts are here to stay—though they’ll have to come with a generous helping of cheese. Maybe.
And alas, I’m still working on loving my body exactly as it is. I wish I could say I’m fully embracing it and all its quirks, or that I’m amazed by how it brought my four kids into the world. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t still have moments of frustration over what I eat or how I don’t exercise enough. Yet, at 40, I’m beginning to understand that my weight doesn’t define my worth, regardless of what the world suggests. It’s about progress, and I’m finally letting myself enjoy ice cream for dinner with my kids on a warm summer evening—because life is short, and we only get so many summer days for indulgence.
Unfortunately, I had to wear my designated funeral dress this summer to bid farewell to my 38-year-old sister-in-law, a remarkable person and mother to a little boy. It’s a tough lesson that we need friends who are there for us through thick and thin—not just those who’d help us “move a body” if needed—but also those who will share our stories when we’re no longer around. Our connections define us and enrich our lives, and that’s what keeps us alive.
But 40 is also the realization that there’s so much more time ahead of us. It’s not the “big dead end” that Sally lamented in When Harry Met Sally; it’s merely the start of a new chapter, and it’s a promising one. At 40, I know who I am, what I love, and I’m ready to chase after it. The world is mine to explore even more than it was at 20, and I’ve gained wisdom on how to navigate it.
Aging isn’t something to dread; it’s a privilege. All I care about is my time with my loved ones. I may have some fine lines and feel too old for pop stars, but the reality is—regardless of my thoughts on mortality—my existence is a win. As long as I’m here, anything is possible.
My friends say that forty is fabulous, and I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t need a Jake Ryan surprise to affirm it. I’m just as happy with my almost-40-year-old husband, my wonderfully imperfect kids, and a birthday cake adorned with “BUNNY” on top.
In case you’re curious about home insemination, check out this informative link on fertility and health. And for more insights, you might want to read about artificial insemination kits here.
Summary:
Turning 40 comes with a blend of nostalgia, self-acceptance, and new beginnings. It’s a time for reflection on life’s journey, embracing the present, and navigating changes with humor and grace. With cherished memories, the importance of friendships, and the realization that aging is a privilege, this milestone age opens the door to new adventures and deeper connections.