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I’ll Call You Back…When I’m 40

family

When I was 23, I scored my first adult-level job. I was easily the youngest in the company, rolling in to work hungover on random Tuesday mornings, drinking coffee because it’s what everyone else was doing, and spending every moment outside my 9-to-5 singing karaoke, flirting with waiters, playing co-ed softball, laying by my apartment pool, talking on the phone debating who was the best guy for Carrie or who was going to win American Idol (and actually having the time to watch the show to prove my case), going out for dinners, meeting up for happy hours, and buying round after round after round…because I had a job and I had friends and, amazingly enough, I had the time and the means to enjoy them both.

At this first job, I remember having a conversation with my pregnant co-worker. She was in her mid-to-late 30s at the time and was due with her third child. I kind of admired her because she was living what I envisioned my life to be someday: a reliable yet flexible job, a kind and devoted husband, a spunky and kind-hearted persona, and three kids. She seemed to manage it all, yet still had time to run and travel and have a good time. One day by the water cooler, she was telling me about her life and the busyness that had enveloped it. I don’t remember her specific examples, but what I took away from the conversation was this:

“Your 20s are for you. Your 30s are for your family. Your 40s are for your friends.” 

I’m not sure how I felt about it in the moment. I guess I was pretty well aware that I was living at a time that was strictly for “me.” I was selfish and broke and trying to figure things out with boyfriends and rent and roommates and other super important 20s-stuff. And I knew I was excited for my 30s to be for a family, to get married and be settled and name my babies names like Ellie and Emma and Hannah and Hayden. And I wondered why – WHY – couldn’t friends be rolled into that decade as well? It made no sense. Just prioritize and find time to see your friends while raising your family of Emmas and Ellies. Easy peasy. What a ridiculous comment for her to make. Surely I could do it all.

12 years have passed since that conversation. And – dammit all to hell – she was more right than I can even begin to tell you. I have three kids now. I have the flexible job, the devoted husband, and a semi-spunky personality. But I also have exhaustion. And forgetfulness. And a very severe case of FOMO. I read text messages and swear I’ll respond to them later but never respond to them. Like legitimately, never. I listen to my 20-something voicemails about once a month and rarely hit the clearly-marked “Call Back” button listed within thumbs-reach of the play button. I scan through my Facebook messages and hope to write people back because they were kind enough to reach out to me, but my response time is so sporadic and pathetic that it’s almost rude to respond at all by the time I actually get around to it. And email? Oh my sweet baby Jesus, just take a number and wait in line because – unless you catch me in a moment of silence where I’m sitting solo in a coffee shop just leisurely playing catch-up from my iPhone – I will almost never (I repeat: NEVER) make time to reply to an email.

Am I a complete jerk? I hope not. Do I want to keep in touch with those I deem important in my life? Absolutely! Are you one of them? Maybe. Will you know it any time soon? Probably not.

I beg you all: Come back when I’m 40.

Stick around, if you can.

Please forgive me for neglecting our relationship for the sake of raising these little people and squeezing in an occasional minute or two a day to catch up with that long-lost man with whom I share a bed every night. It’s not you. It’s me. And I’ve never meant that more. This one is all on me. My fault. My bad. My God, it’s crazy!

In five years, when my kids have all started school and I can actually sit down and catch my breath, I want to rekindle my spark for girls weekends and bonfires and giant bottles of wine. I want to have a phone call with a girlfriend that lasts longer than my commute from my office parking lot to my son’s daycare, when I have to abruptly cut you off because it’s almost 5:00 and if I don’t pick him up by then, I get billed by the minute and doggonnit, I just don’t have those extra dollars to throw around right now.

I want to be able to order my coffee in the morning and have the kind-hearted foresight to even consider ordering seven designed-to-their-taste lattes for my seven wonderful staff members who would most definitely appreciate a delicious caffeinated beverage so early in their (what I’m sure was also a) hectic morning.

I want to say I’ll meet you at 6:30 and actually arrive at 6:30 without a broken purse string hanging off my shoulder because I wanted so badly to be on time that I sacrificed the search for a purse with both strings attached and now I just look ridiculous.

I want to pay for our meal we shared with a credit card that won’t bounce, a pen that isn’t glittery purple, or a stupid guilty conscience because – well, shoot, that $60 would’ve bought a whole lotta diapers, but instead it bought two tiny dollops of cream cheese and some fishy crab cake thingie that didn’t fill me up anyway.

I’m running on empty. No, really. Always. So the time that I’m not spent dedicating 100% to another living being, I’m sitting on my mom-butt watching an episode of The Bachelorette from two weeks ago eating stale Chex Mix and Dr. Pepper because…I deserve it. And I’m on empty. And it’s refreshing and wonderful and it’s how I refuel. So, no. I won’t be calling you back. Not during The Bachelorette with a mouthful of Chex Mix. No ma’am.

I’m not looking for pity, friends. I know how babies are made and I willingly took the plunge. And I’m happy with my decision. I love my 30s. I LOVE LOVE LOVE my 30s. Let me repeat: I FREAKING LOVE MY 30s. It’s the decade of “the family,” according to my old co-worker. It’s the time when you give your everything to those tiny toes and baby bumps. You take out stock in Band-Aids and Crayola and crock-pot ingredients because it’s how you operate successfully right now. And it’s amazing! It’s harder than hell, but it’s amazing. My 30s are easily my best decade yet, and I’m afraid I’ll miss it when it’s gone. So I’m going to be selfish and suck every year, week, minute and second out of it for what it was made. My family. My awesome, five-person, crazy, chaotic, all hell’s broken loose family.

Do I wish I were better at time management? Heck ya. Do I wish I could be like my 20-something self thought I could be and literally “do it all”? You bet I do. But “realistic-mid-30s me” is just asking you to hang on with me…

give me a few more years…

and I’ll call you back.

I promise.

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  • Shelly
    06/22/2016 at 9:02 am

    Great post, beautifully written.

  • Taylor
    06/22/2016 at 10:34 am

    OBSESSED WITH THIS ARTICLE! I started younger so I feel that my order is a little bit opposite of others. BUT GOODNESS GRACIOUS you hit the nail on the head! Thanks for writing something that we’ve all been thinking, but haven’t been able to put in words. YOU ROCK!

  • Kami @Faithfully Me Blog
    06/22/2016 at 11:11 am

    You are so right on with this post. Even my friends that have grown kids forget about this point in time. For now my kids are my friends lol

  • Dana
    06/22/2016 at 12:24 pm

    I couldn’t have said it better myself! Thanks for this one, Nick!

  • Donna
    06/22/2016 at 3:09 pm

    Beautiful and well written. I felt like you were writing about me. 🙂

  • Kristina
    06/27/2016 at 2:12 am

    Thank you for this post. And it’s not like I don’t see my friends, but it is almost always kid related. And we only get to have super awesome fragmented conversations . You know the ones, where you stop mid sentence to stop billy from throwing sand at another kids face… Only to return and start talking about something completely different. I only get the time to maybe text with my friends, and even then the conversations are fragmented and could have a lag time of days between responses… Because you Know life?! I rarely talk on the phone Because God forbid I use my phone as a phone and my 3 year old comes running asking “who you talkin to mama?” (Which is a completely legit question but really did you need to find me hiding in the bathroom whispering into the phone while you were watching My little ponies in the basement to ask me that? You’re bat ears amaze me, yet when it’s time for bed you are suddenly deaf? Ha.