Weekday Dish: Five Girls in their 20s……..

Only for another 6 months. Then it will be four girls in their 20s and one in her 30s. And that one is ME. There I said it. I’m turning the big 3-0 (don’t you hate when people use that phrase?!) this summer. I’m telling the world – or rather the 10 people who might read this blog.

Since the year I turned 26 twice, I’ve been trying to turn back time, and I’m not sure why. I turned 26 three times and this year will be my second try at 27. Everyone at work is confused about how old I really am and is constantly asking, and each in a different way: How old are you? What year were you both? My son’s 26, aren’t you his age? Seriously people, how am I supposed to keep track of my lie when you keep making me do math. So my routine answer has become, “I’m in my mid 20s” or “cresting on toward 30, although that seems really far away.” Heh, I think. That will keep them guessing (and me too).

I remember when I started we went out for a lunch for the summer birthdays on my actual birthday. I had only been there a few weeks so no one was expected to know it was my day. I was talking with a friend about how ironic (in an Alanis way, not actual irony) it was that we were going out on my actual birthday when he proceeded to email our director at work and slip her the info. At the lunch she spilled the beans, wishing me a happy one, then asking if I was 21. 21?! My first thought was: how could they have justified hiring someone who was just 21 into this job? My second thought was: does she really think I could have worked for 2 years and gone to grad school and still been 21? Who was I, Doogie?

I’ve really liked being the youngest (by almost 10 years) in my office, but lately it’s become a burden. Perhaps it’s always been a burden, but I’ve only recently discovered it. Turns out that if they think you’re only 21 they will treat you like you’re only 21. Especially when the Director and most of her senior leadership have birthdays (years included) within 12 months of each other. And that age is 50. So I’m the kid. Literally.

I really want to start embracing the impending 3-0 (said it again! Next thing you know I’ll start talking about only the weather and eating dinner at 4:30), but I can’t. It’s not in my genes. I remember when DaddyMonday turned 40 he left town for three days, no note, nothing. He had been stressing about that day for probably two years. GrammaMonday always talks about how 40 was fine for her, as was 50 and 60, it was 30 that was the problem.

I seriously don’t know what I’m going to do to get myself over this ageaphobia (new word. Definition: fear of revealing one’s true age). I want to embrace my age, especially since I have a lot to show for my 29.5 years, but as DaddyMonday reminds me: wait until 40. As GrammaMonday says: I spent my entire 30th birthday crying. And as MommaMonday says: At 29 your ability to conceive begins to decline. You do realize your eggs are drying up, right?

It seems the deck is stacked against my success.