Yesterday was my 39th birthday. I took the day off of work and spent it lazing around with John and Seamus, which was delightful. I have to admit that this is the first time in my life that I haven't been all that enthusiastic about a birthday. Something about 39 has me a little freaked out. Ok fine, it's the fact that next year I will turn 40. I find 40 daunting for a lot of reasons. There's so much I still want to do in my life, and I guess I thought I'd have accomplished more by now. It's a pretty long list, and at the top is "have kids". And it's not for lack of trying, but obviously, I don't have any yet and now I'm actually running out of time.
At some point last year I decided that I didn't want to be infertile or diabetic anymore, and so I rebelled. It would make a more interesting story if I could say that I ran off and became a roadie for a rock band or that I joined the circus and rode the flying trapeze, but the truth is much more boring. I drank juice! Ate doughnuts! Skipped workouts! With the all too predictable result that I gained weight and didn't get any joy out of my rebellion at all.
I wasted a bunch of time hating myself for gaining weight, but eventually realized just how counterproductive that was. So instead now I'm focusing on healthy eating and exercise. It hasn't been easy. The very first day of trying to get back into my regular post work gym routine I got rear-ended on the way to the gym. It wasn't serious, but my shoulder was still and sore for a few days. Then it snowed about a million times. I like working out though, and lately I've managed to get into a sort of a groove. Now it is time to start working harder. I got in shape before, and I can do it again. And once I do, I'll quit messing around and get on with the IVF. Take that, 40.
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