I recently celebrated a birthday whose arrival nearly traumatized me.

Back in the dark ages when I turned 21, I knew it to be the last birthday I would welcome with open arms. Yet, nerd that I am, instead of partying I studied for a quiz in Victorian literature class, only taking a break to go to the grocery store to buy a bottle of wine (and I wasn’t even carded!).   

I am baffled that the verb “study” is part of my 21^st birthday memory. I had this sense (and it stayed with me throughout my 20s) that I would party when I graduated. But I kept going to school. And so I spent the remainder of my 20s in grad school, hoping like hell I’d finish before I hit 30, so I could really celebrate my life.

I had so many plans for everything I’d be by the time I was 30. I’d have my Ph.D., a teaching job, a fabulous boyfriend, a down payment on a house, and a Roth IRA.

In reality, I turned 30 with none of these items. I was still in grad school, T.A.’ing for lousy wages, single, renting, and in debt. So I did what all people who are about to turn 30 without having realized their dreams should do: I went to Vegas.

My best friend and I gambled, ate, drank, shopped, Jacuzzi-ed, laughed, and danced all night (at an Etta James concert at the House of Blues).

I love those indulgent verbs: drink, shop, laugh, dance. And, after I turned 30, more exciting verbs came my way: graduate, move, and teach.

But as I officially settle into my mid-30s, I find the verbs that fill my life now describe the upkeep of my aging body: tweeze, pluck, wax, shave, pumice, exfoliate, moisturize, file, and steam. After 30, I discovered, it’s all maintenance.

It now takes me 30 minutes to go to bed. Gone are the days when I could chew on a toothbrush, splash some water on my face, and call it good. Apparently my gums are receding so fast that pretty soon I’ll be flossing my skull, so I need a special toothbrush. Now before bed I’m Sonicare-ing, flossing, cleansing, toning, and moisturizing. And that’s just from the neck up! My hands and feetrequire cuticle oil and lotion to keep dry skin at bay, and only after a final coat of shea butter on my hands can I call it a night.

And I’m calling it a night much earlier. In college, 4am seemed late. Now, I start the going-to-bed procedure at 9pm, even on the weekends! Recently, a friend invited me to a concert on campus (a 30 second walk from where I live), but I begged off, claiming an exhausting work week and tired feet. That night I was in bed, covers up to my chin and watching a re-run of House, M.D. at 9:30pm. On a Friday night!

Despite all the maintenance and extra hours of sleep, my body is falling apart. I can’t brush my teeth in the morning without a bib. My mouth muscles are apparently atrophying because I can’t seem to brush without dribbling toothpaste on my blouse. My feet and ankles are so stiff in the morning that I hobble like a drunken sailor to the bathroom. And I found grey hairs….that weren’t on myhead.

So when I celebrated my 35th birthday recently, I inwardly groaned. I figure that it’s only a matter of time until bedtime and dinnertime are separated by only an hour, until brushing my teeth involves removing them from my gum-less mouth and putting them in effervescing water, and until moisturizing my feet requires hearty layers of Vaseline rather than light lotion.

But 5 yearsafter my 30^th birthday, even though my body (and especially mymetabolism!) have started to betray me, some of my goals have been realized. I graduated, found a great teaching job, met a terrific fella, and invested in TIAA-Cref.

I’m still renting, but I see a little house in my future with room for plenty of new verbs like reading, writing, talking, listening, feeling, loving, and, as always, moisturizing.