Hello, 32

it is your birthday

It’s the eve of my 32nd birthday – but no, wait! It’s after midnight now, so really, it IS my birthday. And here I sit, alone on the couch, wrapping up an assignment at nearly 3:00 am. There is an empty can of coke on the side table to my left, and my hair is ‘styled’ into the same top-bun that is always is when I’m staring intoΒ my laptop. Honestly. Has much changed since I turned 22 a decade ago?

Well, yes and no. I still love writing, live music, art, travel, adventures, and coffee. I still sleep terribly, cry easily, drink too much caffeine. I still leave my clean clothes heaped in a pile near my closet, but not in my closet. I’m with the same person (married now, and with two children) and I like him just as much as I did, most days. I’m getting paid more and writing less for free, but I’m not exactly living the high life yet. I assume that will happen sometime in the next six months, because that’s when EVERYTHING happens in my imagination. Oh, the future me, so attractive and successful – you’re always right around the corner! It’s good to have goals.

Obviously, a lot has changed. I’m a mother and a (semi)functioning adult member of society with a house, a minivan and a responsibility to be out of bed before noon. I love the first part so much, and will forever hate the last part.

(My daughter has inherited my love of sleeping in, but my son has yet to discover the joy. COME ON, KID. Catch up to the rest of us so we can be lazy AS A FAMILY.)

I have many of the same friendships, though some of my closest loved ones are far away at the moment.

I have many of the same goals, personally and professionally, though I’ve achieved far more than I give myself credit for, when I make myself think about it.

I’m still anxious, emotional, and obsessed with all of my minor and major regrets.

But I’m still hopeful, ambitious, loyal, and filled with love.

I’m definitely going to be tired in the morning, and my son is showing signs of (another) (goddamn) ear infection. It may not be the same birthday as it would have been ten years ago – in fact, it definitely won’t be – but it will be a good one. I’m going to get up early because I have to, work even though I’d rather be napping, and probably get yelled at by my beloved children for ridiculous offences such as offering them the wrong pants. THE WRONG PANTS, again, how dare I hand them weather appropriate clothing? I’m clearly a monster.

In conclusion: happy birthday to me. I’m going to try to squeeze in a mani-pedi, butΒ if not, whatever. I already have everything I need.



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