Things I'm too old to do

My fortieth birthday is around the corner. Well, not around the next corner. But it’s around the one after that. In recent months Danielle and I have been talking a lot about things that we’re too old to do. It started late last year when we had an important business meeting. We’ve been off the corporate path for a while now, and since we’ve popped out five babies between us in the past six years, our business wardrobes are non-existent. Jeans and t-shirts are pretty strict uniforms around here, and neither one of us has a decent suit in the closet. When we asked someone’s advice, she suggested that the company we were meeting was pretty formal. So what’s a girl to do?

Rather than getting all wound up about what to wear, we put on our (best) jeans and headed to the meeting. We decided that we were too old to run around to buy an outfit just for this occasion. After all, we were representing ourselves – and jeans are where we’re at right now. (The meeting went very well, by the way.)

Since we first started talking about this, I’ve added other things to my list. According to me, I am now too old to:

- Wear a crop top. Or a mini-skirt;

- Drink so much that I’m incapacitated the next day and unable to care for my children;

- Fight with my friends;

- Help anyone move. (This applies to anyone over the age of 30 – not just me. When your 20s are behind you, you are too old to “pay” your friends with pizza and beer for helping you move. You should outsource this task to professionals.)

As I age, some things just aren’t the same, but there have been some improvements too. You get to know yourself better. You know what works and doesn’t work in your life. You get better at saying, “No.” But here’s the problem: Now there are a bunch of things that I’m definitely old enough to handle, but just don’t want to. Like the rodent who briefly took up residence under my kitchen sink. (Disgusting. Disastrous. Needed the husband to deal with it.) Or the rain in my bedroom as a result of a recent thunderstorm. (Still begging the roofer to come by and patch the hole.) Or the baby puke on my sweater that now needs to be dry-cleaned. (Well, that’s just part and parcel of the many thankless tasks of motherhood.)

Look out 40 – I’m coming! Here’s hoping for just the right balance of the things I’m too old to do and the things I’m now ready to handle.