Finding 40 to be Fabulous

Earlier this year I reached a life-changing milestone when I celebrated my 40th birthday.  My years of being a 30-something are now behind me and it feels oh-so-right.  I am at a really good place in my life just now.  I'm content with who I am and the life I've lived that has shaped me into being who that is.

In the weeks leading up to my 40th birthday, I spent time reflecting on what being a 30-something meant to me.  My 30's included giving birth to, and raising five amazing boys that challenge me, amuse me, and fill my heart to bursting.  They were years filled with being stretched to new proportions in love, patience and flexibility {both mentally and physically}.  More often than not, my time, my physical body, and my needs were not my own.  They are days I treasure beyond measure but they are also days I am content I am no longer living in the midst of anymore.  It didn't take me long to realize that approaching 40 was something to be embraced because all I have lived is imprinted in who I am now.

It was that final nudge I needed to strip away my concerns over what others might be thinking of me so that I can instead more fully embrace what has taught me, shaped me, and informed the person I am.  I am married to the love of my life. I am learning to discover and pursue my passions. I have sailed through many happy times, waded through struggles, suffered loss, dealt with sickness, known rejection, met people who have inspired me, felt the sting of loneliness, and learned that I need friends.  I know how to laugh at what tickles me, and how to cry when it hurts.  I've learned that there are times I should speak up more boldly and that sometimes it's okay to be silent.  I am a person who craves time alone, likes routine, could waste all day reading, is challenged by learning new things, and likes to talk {a lot}.  I struggle with self-esteem and self-confidence.  I am quite content to remain home for days on end.  I am very pleased that I am evolving from night owl to morning person.

Although it's been a slow process, I am learning to like who I am and change the things that don't make sense anymore.  I am a work in progress that has taken 40 years to get here but I finally feel I have something to offer the world {or at least the people close to me}.  I wouldn't want to give up any of the days of learning I've lived that have brought me here right now.  And for that reason alone, I embrace this new phase of life.

When Your Baby Is No Longer A Baby

Things are slowly beginning to take on a new and different shape around our home.  The cupboard no longer has a shelf designated for just sippy cups.  Smaller bowls with cartoon designs have been replaced by a stack of small fruit nappies.  There is no longer a diaper bag just inside the door ready to be grabbed as we slip out the door.  And there are no booster seats or high chairs pulled up to the table.

Even the toys are taking on a different form.  Each room has its own collection of Lego, stacks of books and various forms of building toys and trucks.  Gone are the Mega Bloks.  There isn't a Little People bus to be found.

Although the shapes of things have changed and roles are beginning to alter as each of the boys grow older, there are some fundamental parts of our family that will always remain the same. The twins will always be the oldest, or 'the big boys' as I call them. Sweet Evan will always be our very middle boy. Nicholas, our most determined boy. And Dylan is our baby.


A few weeks ago our baby turned 4.  Just like all parents we asked ourselves how so much time had passed so quickly.  He's so clearly not a baby any longer but there is still just enough little in him to help take the sting of his growing up away.  We celebrated with his choice of birthday supper - spaghetti and meatballs.  His brothers gave him our traditional simple birthday gifts - chocolate bars.  He was a happy little boy.

My sweet boy, Dylan, is quick to smile, spreads his love around freely with hugs for people when he greets them, and he is always excited to head out to do something.  He tells me he loves me at least 15 times a day.  He loves big.  He expects everyone loves him in return.  He plays hard.  His biggest fear is squirrels.

And each night when it's time to be tucked into bed, I stand just outside his bedroom door with his little arms wrapped around my neck.  He calls out good-night to everyone in turn and waits for the response he clearly anticipates. He almost always includes his beloved pets Kacy the dog, Minnie the cat and Red Bandit the guinea pig. Then his little head snuggles in to my shoulder, his thumb pops into his mouth and he tells me one last time he loves me as I carry him into his bed. 

Even though the number of years say he might not be a baby any longer, he will always be my baby.  

Joyful Exuberance

Chubby 2 year old feet pound the hallway floor ahead of me.  No pitter-patter in this house.  Always loud.  Always fast.  Always joy in motion.  

Outstretched arms reach for walls just beyond the touch of your straining fingertips.  Making contact would only have slowed you down anyway.  But solid, sweet hands flutter regardless, feeling the wind created by your own speed.  Speed.  You feel so fast, so free.  An unquenchable squeal escapes as you turn your head to look over your shoulder.  As usual, you are checking to make sure I am following your lead.  Crinkled nose.  Sparkling blue eyes. Open-mouthed grin.  How could I possibly resist following?  

Lifting my knees in a march-style run designed purely to make you laugh; I bend my elbows and pump my fisted hands in a matching rhythm.  Just as I predicted, you find me irresistible.   Turning mid-stride, it is only by some miraculous maneuver that keeps you from tumbling backwards as you launch your small, wriggling body at me.  It's with a practiced reflex that lets me catch you midair and swing you above my head, laughing with you at your exuberance.

Bursting through the doorway together, we have completed the trek once more.  This dance we do down the hall with you in lead, me at your heels. It is a ritual of sorts really.  One perfected by the repetitive trips made daily to the bathroom at the end of the hall. 

It's one of those mommy-moments I never forethought in my daydreams of baby-bearing and rearing and all that would entail.  But it is a moment worth celebrating with each and every child born.  YAY you!   And it is no matter that together we visit that tiny room in our house countless times each day.  Every time we do it means you are a big boy now, all grown up and big enough to use the potty on your own, EVERY time!