Let me preface this by saying that that prior to turning 40, I was never the type to experience any angst about my age. My 20’s were great. Turning 30 was no big deal, because I was so busy- married for 5 years and pregnant with my third child. But the Big 4-0… well, that was a different story… The prospect of turning 40 was not ok with me. 40 is OLD. 40 is sore muscles, mom jeans, sensible haircuts, and holding things further away from you as you attempt to read them. No. NOOOOO. The problem is, the chronological number didn’t gel with my internal age. You know. About……