I know, I know. It's just a birthday. Only, I can't figure out why this one bugs me so much. I can't figure out if it's a function of all the gray hair or what.

I keep thinking that it's a function of having type 2 diabetes, which is you know "the diabetes people get when they get old",or maybe copious amounts of gray hair, or that it's a function of having just had a baby. I think the thing about having recently had a baby is that I've thought a little bit about "if I had another baby."

No, I'm not trying to get pregnant again, geesh.

The line of thought actually being more along the lines of "If we're going to have another baby, we better do it quick." My biological clock is running down, Ova-owners and Sperm-owners. I have fewer reproduction years left than I have used. I'm knocking on the door of the big Four-O. Okay, I'm knocking it down with a freakin' iron battering ram and behind that battering ram are the age police who are taking this Birthday Girl down and cuffing her.

And there's the babyface husband thing, too. He's still in his 20's for God's sake. He'll STILL be in his 20's when I turn 40, the little shit. It hardly seems fair that the love of my life is so damned young. Although, I'm hoping as I go further into that sexual prime thing that he'll still be a horny creature of the dark, the light and all the furniture in the house.

I also have been noticing that my legs, while generally less crampy with the intake of iron, still ache at night, regardless. I know I need to exercise more and Mike and I have budgeted money at month's end to do a family join to a club, but it's more than that. I just feel kind of creaky.

Seemingly, lately I've got the creaky old lady thing down, as well as the cranky old lady thing.

Mike keeps asking me what I want for my birthday and I've told him at least 10 things I'd be perfectly happy with and yet, he keeps asking. It's at the very least annoying.

I asked him what we were doing on my birthday, so I could plan meals for the week and he asked,"What do you want to do?" I went apeshit.

"Look, Mike, I'm not planning the whole thing for you. You know what my favorite foods are, if necessary, you can ask where the recipes are. You know my favorite restaurants. I have to plan everything else we do in the house from bill payment to carpools, I'm not planning my own fucking birthday! You handle it. I am not going to do it."

When Pauline wanted to know if we needed babysitting, I handed him the phone, telling her, "I don't know about that, you'll have to ask Mike."