Thirty-seven. Yep. That’s really pushing forty. I mean, there’s no nice way to say it. I like to think that I don’t LOOK like I’m pushing forty, although I’m sure many days I look every bit my age and then some, as I shlep around my kitchen in pajama pants and Crocs. I’ve pretty much made it a point to never leave my house without fixing my hair and putting on a LITTLE makeup, though, so hopefully the fact that I don’t look like a total wreck is helping me win that battle against looking like an old frumpy housewife.

Last weekend, I went to a party at a friend’s house, and I chatted with a cute, young-ish guy for quite a long time. Eventually, the conversation turned to birthdays, and we discovered that three of us in the room had birthdays coming up in the next week, myself included. I mentioned that I was turning 37, and the guy I was talking to turned to me and said, “Wow – good for YOU!” ::insert sad trumpet sound:: He went on to say, “I would have guessed you were maybe thirty – NEVER thirty-SEVEN!” I told this story to my husband and he laughed and called me a cougar.

My sister and I were talking about our ages, and we seem to be on the same page about one thing for sure: neither of us feel like we’ve got decades of experience under our belts. She said she feels like she’s been screwing around, not paying attention, and she’s missed out on everything – like she looked in the mirror one day and saw wrinkles and gray hair, and she’s thinking, “How long was I asleep?”

In some ways, I can relate. I mentioned to her that I can’t even remember most of my 20s, when I was married to my first husband. The memories I have revolve around my daughter – I can remember exactly how she looked, what she was wearing, the TV shows she watched, and the friends she had when I was 25. But I really can’t recall how I looked at 25. Was my hair long? Short? Did I have a job? Who did I hang out with then? I have very little recollection of it. One thing I’m certain of: I probably was wearing overall shorts.

My twenties were such a dark time for me personally, mentally, psychologically. I was in a bad relationship and battling major inner demons – I guess I’ve blocked out a lot of it, at least selectively. It’s easy enough for me to conjure up a memory of painting an elaborate mural on my daughter’s bedroom wall, but I can’t see MYSELF in that mental picture. I’m sure that’s the reason I don’t feel my age – how can I be thirty-seven? I should be turning THIRTY right about now! I’m sure I skipped a few years in there somewhere.

I’m so incredibly thankful that I’m PRESENT in my life now. I feel so fortunate and blessed to be among wonderful people – I have the best friends, the best sister, and I’m married to such a good guy. Furthermore, I’m very thankful that I’ve gotten to a point (to an AGE, I guess!) where I can recognize that my first husband was actually a pretty decent guy, even if we were bad for each other at that stage in our lives. I think thirty-seven is going to be good for me. Maybe even look good ON me!