Reluctant
Birthdays around here are generally a pretty big deal. It’s the one day a year when you have a great reason to dote on a person and make them feel super special just for being alive. Of course, anyone can do these things on any other given day, but it’s nice to look forward to that one day of pretty much guaranteed awesomeness.
For most of my life, my own birthday was an exciting occurence. Personally, I feel that it lands at a great time of the year, between Halloween and Thanksgiving, two of the coolest holidays. It is usually a day that I look forward to with excitement, however, this year, something is different.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I am certainly grateful and appreciative of even the slightest acknowledgement of my presence on this earth. But this year, there are 2 numbers on my birthday card looking back at me that kind of give me the heebie jeebies. The 3 and the 0.
I have always thought that at age 30 I would be officially old. I don’t know why I associated that with being old. Maybe it is because cars are considered antiques at 30 years according to some sources? Maybe it is because when I was a kid, pretty much everyone’s parents were in their 30’s and of course, parents are old. (Sorry Dad. I don’t think that now!) At least to a kid and that could now include my kid.
I do know that Pinky does know how to brighten her mom’s day. She exclaimed to my parents on the phone “Mommy is turning 21 for her birthday!” Let me just say I like how she thinks!
