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Yesterday was my 41st birthday.

I’ve gone and gotten middle-aged, dammit.

I wish I could say I don’t feel a day over 21, but actually, I do. I can tell in lots of ways, among them …

1) I can’t eat whatever I want anymore. I’m talking not about weight, although that’s an issue of its own, but about sheer gut comfort. Time was I could skip breakfast, eat a fudgesicle for lunch, knock back six pieces of greasy pizza for dinner and have nachos for a midnight snack without breaking a sweat. This last month I suffered through two stomach bugs less than three weeks apart, both after overly-rich meals. Time to turn over that Cast-Iron Stomach trophy to a new generation.

2) Along those lines, I don’t even want to eat certain stuff anymore. I can pass on doughnuts. Oreo cookies no longer have the same pull. I would be happy not to have anything from McDonald’s ever again. It’s depressing.

3) I care about clean more now. I remember my housemates and I, living off campus in a two-bedroom house when I was a senior in college. One of my housemates swept the kitchen floor probably four times daily. The floor always looked reasonably OK to me, and I always wondered why she bothered. But just in these last few years, I notice I sweep the kitchen repeatedly, just like she did, picking up crumbs, dog hairs, fir needles and leaves from outdoors, whatever detritus the day brings. And just like her, I’m doing it all the time. I can’t help it. I see dirt, people.

4) I’m better about speaking up. I used to cringe in embarrassment when a family member would send something back to the restaurant kitchen or make a fuss about a refund at the store. Now, if I think they’ve goofed on my bill at Burgerville, I ask. Part of this comes from 18 years in the reporting business, but part of it also comes from being a mom. When somebody cuts in line in front of me or tries to give me a raw deal at work, I’m much less afraid to use my Mom Voice to tell it like it is.

5) I can’t pull an all-nighter anymore without really, really feeling it.

6) Most so-called “kid’s shows” on TV are either too juvenile or too snarky for me to really enjoy anymore.

7) In some ways, I’m better at looking at the Big Picture. I might sympathize with Slightly Older Princess’ agony when she has a fight with a friend, but I know they’re going to be back to being buds in a day or two. I was mighty put out at Husband several years ago for not giving me a card on Valentine’s Day, but now I’m better at remembering that hearing, “I love you” on any day is worth far more.

Now, seven ways I refuse to grow up:

1) I still love to color, blow bubbles and play with Play-doh.

2) The comics are the first section I take out of the Sunday paper.

3) The juvenile section of the library is a lot more fun for me than the big, depressing grown-up stuff.

4) I will always love Disneyland.

5) Maybe I can’t eat as much junk food as I used to, but I will always make room for hot chocolate with marshmallows, Spaghetti-Os and Cap’n Crunch cereal.

6) Maybe the stuff on Cartoon Network doesn’t do it for me anymore, but I still love old Bugs Bunny cartoons and episodes of classic Scooby-Doo.

7) My music may all be classic rock, but I still like to listen to it LOUD. Cue the White Album. (Na na na na na na na-nah) “You say it’s your BIRTH-day!”