I have exciting news, everyone! I’m old!

I turned 40 earlier this month. When I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma at age 30, I often wondered if I’d ever see 40.

In fact, during the first few scary years after my diagnosis, I pretty much assumed I wouldn’t.

Forty seemed so old and far away. When you’re diagnosed with a fatal disease at age 30, you don’t really worry about getting old. You don’t plan for anything that’s 10 years away; heck, you don’t plan for anything that’s one year away.

A couple of years ago, it dawned on me that I might actually make 40 after all. I knew it wasn’t guaranteed, but it looked like I was headed in that direction. I couldn’t understand friends who complained about turning 40 or about getting older. As my own big birthday approached, I got more and more excited.

Bring it on, 40! I thought. Bring. It. On.

I don’t care if I get wrinkly or saggy or gray. I just want to hang around.

Now, here I am. And it is pretty awesome.

When I was a kid, 40 seemed impossibly old. I remember my seventh-grade English teacher turning 40. Other members of the school staff joked with her and teased her all day long. At the end of the day, they wrapped her in a shawl, put her in a wheelchair, and rolled her across the street to the old-folks’ home, like the feeble, elderly person she was.

Well, of course, I thought. She’s going to need to be looking into nursing homes in a few years anyway.

When my mom turned 40 a few years later, she wrote a song about it called, “I Refuse to Turn 40.” I can’t remember most of the words, but I remember it was about wanting to stay 39 because turning 40 means you are old and wrinkly. There was something in there about needing to use a lot of Oil of Olay.

Now that I’m 40, I can say that I don’t use Oil of Olay yet, and I still feel pretty far from being elderly. I don’t feel any different than I did when I was 39.

And I’m still on the young side for myeloma. I’m still usually the youngest person in the waiting room at the cancer center. I’m no longer a freakishly young myeloma patient, but I still don’t really blend in yet.

Still, this is a big milestone. When you have myeloma, you celebrate every milestone that you can.

Turning 40 is one of the few big milestones that I’ve marked in my own life. Most of the time, I’ve always looked toward the big milestones in my daughter’s life. She was only six months old when I was diagnosed. I was scared of all that I could miss, but I didn’t want to look too far ahead, so I would always set small goals.

I wanted to see her learn to walk. Check.

I wanted to see her start pre-school, and then kindergarten. Check, check.

I wanted to take her to Disney World. See her learn to ride a bike without training wheels. See her make her first communion. Check, check, and check.

And I didn’t just look forward to the big things. I can make a milestone out of pretty much anything. Not long after my diagnosis, we were sitting in her bedroom listening to a Sesame Street CD. Elmo sang, “Elmo reached the highest shelf! He did it by himself!” And I cried, because I knew I’d never see her reach for something on a shelf.

Seriously. I had this exact thought: “I will never see her get something off of a shelf!”

Now she’s nearly 10 years old and starting middle school in the fall. She’d probably roll her eyes if I even mentioned that she used to like Elmo. And, yes, she can reach a shelf just fine.

Time goes on. We’re all getting older. I might get a few gray hairs. And that’s a good thing.