It’s that time of year again where I partake in my n’th annual 29th birthday. If you ask Lucy how old I am, she’ll quickly respond with “Mommy’s 29! [giggle giggle] that’s a joke!” She’ll also tell you how old I really am and verify it by yelling across the party/room/store with “ISN’T THAT RIGHT, MOM? YOU’RE REALLY 38 RIGHT? 38 ISN’T IT??” I asked my mom how old she thought I was and she said, “31.” Aaah, thanks mom! Then when I told her how old I really am she said something that went to the tune of “wow! You’re old!” This coming from the lady who once said after my long explanation of what a bad day I had, “you must feel like a real loser” as words of encouragement. But it’s the honesty and frankness that I love about my mom. That I’m still 31 in her eyes reveals my position in the family. I can see this happening with Zélie. She’s our little baby.
I actually don’t mind my age. Some great people got their funky-boom-boom on late into their thirties (and I’m still in my mid-thirties btw). Julia Child, Simon Cowell, Harrison Ford, to name a few. I’m not saying I’m all great, but it’s always inspiring to see people completely change their life and try something new. Even at 29! Last year I was pregnant and wondering where the heck we were going to live and how was this whole farm thing going to go. Today, I cleared the table in our “rustic” farmhouse for a little birthday dinner after checking on the cows, chickens, kittens and dog to find a lizard confused and exposed.
… thanks for all the birthday wishes!