No doubt, this is bound to be the toughest birthday yet. I’m turning 40, the age that everyone dreads. “Over the hill.” Closer to death. I feel that. In all of my bones.
My daughter took her first steps on Friday! The boys and I were so excited, yelling and screaming, hoping to encourage her to take more steps. To not give up. My 5 year old looks at me and excitedly says, “We gotta call and tell……” but no names came to mind. I immediately thought to call my mom. That night, when I had a few minutes alone out in the backyard, I cried. I miss my mom.
This has been a really challenging week. When you have your shit together, things like the things that occurred last week, don’t happen. To me, they just keep happening. I’ll spare you the stupid details. Besides, I hear my husband’s voice in my ear asking, “That’s all?” I guess I’m pretty easily discouraged?
I am absolutely exhausted. I am a server when I’m not taking care of my kids. The job is grueling. You’re on your feet for long periods of time, carrying heavy plates, pallets of clean glasses to shine, linen bags, etc. I’m too old for this job. When I initially took it on, my vision was to pay off my medical bills. This job has now become part of our survival. The medical bills are still lingering.
A lot of my friends are turning 40 right along with me. There are plans in the making. Parties and celebrations to attend. It’s a monumental age to make it to, it seems. Birthdays used to be huge for me too. At one time, I dreamt of a huge surprise party. Something this big and this incredible would require such thought, planning, and effort that surely, this would be an adequate way to enter my 40’s. I would feel so much happiness. So much love. As September approaches, I realize I’m not the person anymore. My friend list is dwindling. There are few people I feel I’m able to relate to now. There are few people who understand who I am now and what has happened to create the me that I am. I now fantasize that I’ll be surprised with a beautiful vacation to somewhere tropical. I might be the last person who has never been to Hawaii. But, as I mentioned above, my little serving job has become our survival. Minimum wage and tips aren’t going to get me there.
I’ve never known struggle like this. And I get it. Again, insert my husband’s voice, “It could always be worse.” I apologize for seeming to not appreciate what I have. But, let me repeat myself. I’ve never known struggle like this. And, I’ve never felt like more of a failure.
My husband and I are co-parenting. Co-householding. Co-existing. Sometimes, were good. Most times were surviving. I love him. He loves me. He would have to. But, fuck if this life isn’t getting harder and harder. I can certainly see why couples give up. My husband and I are surviving off of the bare minimum in every single fucking way. There is no extra… no abundance… no more than just what we currently have. This applies to money. Time. Patience. Breaks. Moments. This is it. And we are not using what little we have in the best ways. Our free time is on our phones sitting next to one another. Our little extra money goes to good food, wine, a night where we eat out because we’re so fucking tired from the day. From the struggle. From life. We are both stressed. Frustrated.
Yesterday, my husband and I had a pretty big blow up. Again, I’ll spare the details. In these moments, I’m devastated. I wonder, “Will we make it?” “Is it time to be realistic about what we are and whether we can continue?” “Are we affecting the emotional well-being of our kids?” “Is this it?”
He’s all I have.
My mom was almost always there. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t. But, in my biggest or scariest moments, she was there. But, now she isn’t. And here I am, needing her more than I’ve ever. Like Symone learning to walk, I need to hear her voice to encourage me to not give up. This is no longer a possibility.
This is 40.
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