About Rebecca Eckler
Since becoming pregnant with her daughter Rowan, Canadian journalist and author Rebecca Eckler has penned three hilarious books, including the best-selling Knocked Up. Catch Rebecca’s weekly unique perspective on motherhood and single parenthood.
Don't Wish Me Happy Birthday
Rebecca Eckler's Blog canada
(May.14.09)
I’m not going to talk about it. I’m not going to talk about it.
OK, I’m going to talk about it. I just celebrated my birthday. And by “celebrated,” I mean I tried to completely ignore it.
I even treated myself on a mini-vacation so I wouldn’t be in town. Somehow, I felt that if I wasn’t in town, then I could really forget about my birthday and the fact another year has passed and that I’m not getting younger, but that I’m getting older.
Not that any of my friends offered to take me out. That’s because I don’t like thinking about my birthday, let alone celebrating it, let alone sharing with friends the actual day of my birthday (even though I get sad when they don’t call on my birthday!).
Yes, I’ve turned 35. And it’s been completely painful to realize that really, it is possible that half my life is over. I know this sounds completely depressing, but that’s how I think.
I’ve noticed that my body has changed and now I have to work out twice as hard to at LEAST try to maintain the body of a 30 year-old.
I’ve noticed three grey hairs, and it almost put me over the edge. I recently read somewhere that Jennifer Aniston cried when she realized she had grey hairs and people thought she was really superficial, but I completely understand, because when I saw my grey hairs, I cried too.
I see wrinkles on my forehead and have contemplated Botox, which unfortunately I can never do, because I’m scared of needles and I worry that it will actually make me look worse and plastic, rather than young and fresh.
I’m trying very hard to convince myself that the lines around my eyes give me character, but it’s not working. They’re just lines around my eyes. And I’ll never forgive myself for tanning so much in my twenties and smoking. And I should have been drinking eight glasses of water a day for the past decade.
I hate the fact that I also wonder about what kind of clothes I can now get away wearing. I have this one very short jean skirt that I absolutely adore. Last summer, I wore it all the time.
But, now that I’m 35, can I really still get away with showing so much leg? (Once I saw Linda Hogan at a hotel I was staying at and she was wearing a thong bikini and the sight disturbed me so much, that I’m still traumatized six years later.)
Also, now that I’m 35, shouldn’t I be more, well, adult-like, and have a fridge full of groceries and know how to cook and pay my bills on time?
I mean, I’m friggen 35!
And what makes this birthday so depressing is that I’ve totally lied throughout this entire post. This birthday has turned me into a liar.
I’ve actually turned 36.
Forgive me. Please allow me to lie to people and tell them I’m 35. Consider it a gift to me.
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