It's that time of year again. My birthday! I have always loved my birthday. Once again, I have managed quite well to stretch it out to a celebration lasting more than one day. My in-laws visited for the weekend, which made it possible for me to: (1) cook us all a really awesome dinner one night; (2) go out! After dark! With my husband! To a bar! With friends! Where we drank beer! And talked! We actually couldn't remember the last time we just went to a bar; (3) go out for a second night! To a hip restaurant! With friends! Drinking really good margaritas! and (4) go out shopping. In Georgetown. ALONE. I spent too much at Anthropologie, and rationalized it with the 15% birthday discount card, and enjoyed the hell out of it. I also got a much-coveted present from my husband and in-laws - one of these gorgeous camera bags, which I can't wait to get my greedy paws on. Today, on the actual day, I'm going out to dinner yet again, with my guy and my girl, to our favorite neighborhood spot, where we can all eat fries and share a milkshake and have good drinks and a good time.
However, one thing has finally happened. I swore it never would, but it did. I am in total denial about my age. It's *whisper* thirty-um-yeah-um-cough-eight *whisper*. I still don't know when these things happen because I am still maybe like 25 in my head. And I sure think I look good for my age, maybe not 25, but younger than the number says. And if you don't think so, you'd better just lie your ass off, please. Because I'm feeling strangely embarassed to be that old. Shite.
It's just a number, that's all. I'm choosing to put it aside, ignore it for the most part. Just like I am also largely ignoring the fact that the Olive woke up with a runny nose yesterday, clearly feeling distinctly unwell, and that there's a suspicious cold-like tickle in my throat. I am ignoring the suspiciously increasing number of silver strands on my head, and the ache in my foot that tells me a podiatrist visit is due. I am ignoring that it's 32 and snowy and icy on my day, after being nearly 70 and sunny last week.
Because it's easy to ignore all those smallish things, when I spent three days listening to my daughter laugh and shriek with unfettered joy while playing with her grandparents, who have the most amazing patience and creativity with her. When I had time to read an old favorite book in front of the fire in my beautiful and creaky old DC rowhouse. When I got to go out with just my husband, laugh with friends, and feel like it was several years ago, in the lovely, adventuresome days of just us two. When I am overwhelmed by the number of people wishing me happy birthday on Facebook and text message; I know we all have electronic reminders of all this, but still, my friends took that moment to do it. When my daughter sang a happy birthday song to me this morning. I am lucky, so lucky, no matter what the number is.