My family certainly made sure my birthday was memorable. On the morning of my 40th birthday, my parents called my cell phone at 8:29 AM, serenading my voicemail with “Happy Birthday” while I tried to steal a few more moments of sleep (and perhaps a little denial). My husband was entertaining our 6-year-old and 2-year-old in the living room of our vacation rental in North Carolina. They burst into the room shortly after, presenting me with gifts: a handful of rocks from the gem mine we visited the day before and a sparkling new necklace.
As the day wore on, my mom surprised me with a chocolate birthday cake from a local bakery, complete with the phrase “Happy, Happy Birthday SILLIES” written in frosting—almost as if the words themselves were shocked to be spelling something so whimsical. “I had to spell ‘sillies’ for the baker three times!” my mother exclaimed when I thanked her. She didn’t seem to find it odd to call a 40-year-old mother of two “Sillies,” and maybe it’s not so strange after all. I can already envision my own 6-year-old receiving a cake that says “Happy Birthday GIGGLES!” when he turns 40, should I have any say in the matter.
This, I suppose, is what it means to be 40. While I did identify with some aspects of Judd Apatow’s film of the same name, my experience is distinct from what I anticipated, even different from the 39 I knew just six months ago.
Forty is a mix of excitement and skepticism when people doubt my age… and feeling a bit crushed when they don’t. It’s the stage where I finally acknowledge the need for a skincare routine, even if it only consists of committing to wash my face each night. It’s noticing those tiny wrinkles above my lip—wrinkles I always associated with my grandmother—and making regular visits to the dermatologist a routine rather than an occasional trip.
Forty is stepping into a baby store and realizing I hardly know anyone who might need sleep sacks or pacifier clips anytime soon. After more than a decade in the “baby bubble,” I’ve graduated; by this time next year, none of my kids will be in diapers. While this is mostly thrilling, it also comes with a tinge of sadness and a hint of anxiety—especially when I think about navigating public restrooms. But mostly thrilling.
At forty, I find myself watching the Fifty Shades of Grey trailer and feeling a mix of revulsion and, yes, a touch of curiosity. Are they really going to show that? And is Sonny Crockett’s daughter starring in it? OMG. (Sidebar: how about a middle-aged version starring Rob Lowe and, I don’t know, someone like Cameron Diaz? But honestly, just Rob Lowe would do.)
Forty also means having a CaringBridge account to keep up with multiple friends’ cancer battles. Yes, I said “friends,” plural. It’s a heart-wrenching experience, and while I’m grateful to support them, I can’t help but feel the weight of it. Cancer is a true jerk.
I’ve embraced Facebook, maybe Twitter, and even Instagram, but I must draw the line at Snapchat—no thank you. Vine sounds like a chore, and Tumblr leaves me utterly baffled. Don’t even get me started on Kik; I can’t even pronounce that!
At forty, I sometimes wonder if it’s too late to learn how to apply eyeliner properly. I’m at a stage where I refuse to put up with nonsense from people and don’t feel the need to spend time with those who drain my energy. It’s becoming increasingly easier to heed my 2-year-old daughter’s advice to “let it gooooo.”
I’m also not too old to feel a bit miffed that Adam Levine just tied the knot. And then there’s the dilemma of whether the heart-patterned sweatpants I adore are too “young” for public outings. In my defense, they are subtle hearts. But maybe I shouldn’t wear them while indulging in a third episode of Good Luck Charlie, you know, just to be safe.
Forty comes with an acceptance that kale and Brussels sprouts might be here to stay, and I commit to eating them, but only if there’s plenty of cheese involved. Maybe.
While I strive to accept my body for what it is, I would be lying if I said I completely embrace it. I wish I could proudly declare that I love my body and everything about it, especially for having birthed my four children. But the truth is, I still grapple with guilt over indulgences or missed workouts because I want to look and feel better. However, turning 40 means I’m making progress towards seeing myself as a work in progress. I’m tentatively beginning to believe that my worth isn’t tied to my weight, regardless of the world’s messages. At 40, I still enjoy ice cream for dinner with my kids on summer days because, honestly, life is short and we only have so many of those moments.
Regrettably, I also have a designated funeral outfit, which I wore this summer to bid farewell to my 38-year-old sister-in-law, an extraordinary woman and mother. It’s become clear that we need friends who not only help us move a body but also those who will be there to honor our memory. Friends who will remember us with love and understanding, ensuring our children know who we were, even after we’re gone. Forty is realizing how crucial our connections are; they give our lives meaning and sustain us even in absence.
Yet, forty also brings the realization that many of us have so much more time ahead. It’s not the “big dead end” lamented in When Harry Met Sally; it’s the start of a new chapter, and it’s a promising one. At 40, I understand who I am, whom I love, and I’m no longer afraid to pursue it. The world feels even more mine to explore than it did at 20, and I know much better how to navigate it.
Aging is not something to dread or merely tolerate; it’s a privilege. What matters most is the time I have with my loved ones. I might have those fine lines, I may feel too old for certain pop stars, and I might have to confront my mortality and that of those I cherish. But in the end, I still emerge victorious because I’m here, and as long as I am, anything is possible.
My friends tell me that forty is fabulous, and I can’t help but agree. I don’t need Jake Ryan to show up with a birthday cake to validate that. I’m content with my nearly 40-year-old husband, my wonderfully imperfect children, and a birthday cake that proudly proclaims “SILLIES” across the top.
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In summary, turning 40 is a multifaceted experience filled with excitement, challenges, and acceptance. It’s a time to embrace life, love, and the connections that matter most. As I step into this new decade, I do so with joy and anticipation for what lies ahead.
Keyphrase: Embracing Life at 40
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