That time I turned 40.

I remember turning ten and how entering my double-digit era felt like a big deal. I can still taste the butter pecan double-decker cake with the sliced strawberries and envision the erratic sparkler display preceding the much-anticipated slicing. I used to count the days to each birthday, and now I see my kids doing the same. 

This year they counted down the days until my 40th birthday. One even scribbled “Happy 46th, Mom!” on the calendar on purpose. He’s rascally genetic, I’m afraid. 

“I’m still 39!” I’ve declared all year; I’ve been eager to hold on to my 30s while fully aware that time continually and methodically marches past all the wishing in the world.

When I was a kid, I remember pinching the skin on the back of a hand of a sweet older lady in our church. “Why doesn’t it snap back quickly like mine?” I had asked. She hadn’t been insulted, although she could have been; she simply explained that was what skin does as it ages. 

Well, the other week, I caught one of my sons doing the same thing to my hand. 

Then yesterday, that same son perched on the stairwell and did it to the skin on my ankle while I was trying to blow dry my hair. “Hey man, can you find something else to do?!” I had asked mid-dry. For the record, he couldn’t. 

This past week I watched my 81-year-old dad smoke a baseball with the bat in his hands, just as he had always done. We all grimaced for fear that his back wouldn’t hold during the effort, and then we also relaxed as the ball went flying, and he still stood upright. He’s always been good at all sports – strong, quick, and skilled. His hit was the same, but he pulled in a pinch runner – demonstrating that with age should also come wisdom. 

It’s good to be aware of an aging body. 

What’s also good is being very aware that, at a certain point, it is possible to throw out your back, neck, and shoulder (insert random body part here) while sleeping, sneezing, climbing up the stairs, or even peering into an empty suitcase. 

Rogue white eyebrow hairs seem to appear overnight. Not-so-rogue stark white head hairs accompany them in droves. It feels shocking, rude, and a little like, “What just happened in my 30s that makes me now find myself here?!” 

My husband says that the 30s are like adult puberty. It’s awkward; all these odd things are happening to our bodies. Married couples now desire good-fitting orthopedic shoes and specialize in finding 2-for-1 specials. They also meet like skilled relay racers at night to take turns in the bathroom. And they never consume even a drop of caffeine after 11 am.

But with all these new developments, I’ve also gained perspective, and a little more wisdom and knowledge than I had before, which I can only hope and assume will keep growing as the decades keep passing. 

In the past 13 years, I’ve raised four children from babies to mostly independent human beings. One recent morning I heard, “Mom’s a little sick today; make your own breakfast.” That was the 7-year-old making the announcement to his older brother.

The cribs and strollers are long gone; the life jackets and booster seats are almost out the door. My oldest is outgrowing me and cracking jokes like, “Can you reach this for me, Mom? Oh, just kidding…” as he stretches his long arm above me to the top cupboard items. 

He also says, “Driving looks fun; I’d like to try it.” Good. He can become my parallel parker and backer upper. This aging, growth thing also has its perks.

“Do you need me to pick up anything for you?” that same son texted me from the store. How different from the many trips I took with him in the stroller. He now rolls the cart of groceries beside me – instead of me pushing him and all the eggs, milk, crackers, cereal, and diapers all the way home. I now walk primarily hands-free unless someone younger climbs on a ledge, as little boys usually like to travel. 

With each decade, life has certainly evolved. I celebrated my 30th birthday with two children on my lap during a family beach house vacation. For my 40th, I would have thrown out my hip if all four of my children sat on me. That’s more of the ‘with age comes wisdom bit I mentioned already.’ 

I’ve learned I can’t slow down time, but nor do I want to. God is the designer and He knows this is the best way for us to experience life. 

So last night I blew out my candle, squeezed my family, and shared a meal and a giant berry custard tart with them before watching a nearly 20-year-old movie. I’m so thankful to God for another year to learn, grow, love well, and make even more memories. And I’m grateful for the time, opportunities, and people He’s given me this year, knowing that there’s more where that came from directly ahead. 

“Just think, Mom, in 60 years, you’ll be 100,” he said as we walked to the store, his little hand in mine. 

Maybe he’s right. Perhaps he’s not, but whatever the number of years left, what a gift to walk through them with family beside us and a good God in front of us.