Next year I’ll be 40

So I’ll be 39 on Saturday. I can’t really manage to care about birthdays any more but in the end a birthday, like New Year, is a good time to take stock of your life.
Following the advice of the wise Monty Python and trying to look on the bright side of life I can say that at 39 I’m on speaking terms with all my family (something my teenage self might be surprised to find out), I have a nice (if overly preocupied and occasionally depressed) husband who’s been known to brighten my day by sending me pictures of his abs, I have a cute nephew and niece, I’m not over-weight (always a strong plus for the ladies. Apparently our main concern in life is to remain fuckable for as long as possible – don’t be cross with me, I just say it likeI see it), I’m fairly healthy (well, there may be something slightly wrong with my brain but I’ll worry about that if and when the time comes) and two thirds of my children are alive and well (not the best average for the twenty first century but there you go).
Finally, if all goes according to plan, by my fortieth birthday I may be able to see my teeth again so that’s something to look forward to.
Trust me, this is the most enthusiastic I can manage when it comes to this time of year. It’s a step up from previous years when the soundtrack was basically Green Day’s “Wake me up when September ends”.

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