It is there.  Looming and close.  I can feel it. Sometimes I claim it.  Sometimes I consider it. Sometimes I'm surprised by it.  But I never shun it.

Next month is my fortieth birthday.  Forty - the start of middle age, the realization that I have lived almost half my life, the renewed importance of my bucket list, the reflection on a half lived life, the realization that I will never come close to knowing it all.  Heavy stuff, no?

I'm not afraid of Turning Forty.  I won't lie about my age.  I won't come up with something clever, like saying I'm turning twenty-nine for the eleventh time.  I'll be forty.  Period.

It's an accomplishment really.  Forty years of living under my belt.  That's a lot of experiences.  That's a lot of living.  And I never forget that I'm one of the lucky ones to have survived to celebrate this milestone.

While turning forty with kids is not out of the norm, turning forty with small children has only recently become the norm.  While I do have friends with teenagers heading off to college, most of my friends are close to my age with children the same age as mine.

At forty, my thoughts are not of retirement in upcoming years.  They are of the future cost of post secondary education, the financial requirements needed to have three children play sports, the transition from home to school, providing care for aging parents, the realities of an adult life.

During the first forty years of my life, I simultaneously behaved beautifully and abhorrently. While I have no problems of toasting my good deeds, I have spent much time regretting my less favorable behaviors.  I have spent many days making my way, and wasted many days in sadness.

Whether or not this was a rite of passage, I do not know.  I do know that this is not how I want to carry out the next forty years.  It may have been a culmination of my experiences so far, or it may have been the act of becoming a mother, but the next forty years will be marked differently.

Time will not be wasted on what could of been, but what is.

Regret, while part of the parenting process as far as I can tell, won't take up valuable real estate in my mind.

Healthy living is of the utmost importance.  When my youngest is twenty-five, I will be sixty-three.  I want to make sure I'm here for her wedding.

Each day is a gift.  While some days take on the appearance of my most desired item, some resemble the handmade sweater my Aunt Velma gave me for Christmas in 1984.  It is up to me to monitor my perception of such gifts.

Wealth will be measured in the memories made with my family.

Laughter will be the mainstay of my home.

I love you will be spoken no less than a hundred and seven times a day.

This one wild and precious life?  It is mine.  It is mine to share.  And who better to share what I have learned these past forty years with?  Who better to share the next incredible forty to come?