Every year Shelton asks me what I want for my birthday. Little does he know that weeks in advance I’m pondering over new purses, shoes, massages, necklaces, expensive dinners and maybe even a weekend getaway. It’s a celebration of my life people… I deserve all of these things and more! (she says slightly kidding!)
A couple of weeks ago, sitting on the deck after dinner, Shelton asked me what I want. And I told him a pedicure. His response was “and?”. And nothing. I want an hour by myself with some nice lady rubbing my feet and scraping off the toe nail polish that has been flaking here and there since Paisley was born. Two of my toes don’t even have polish and one of my big toes looks like a donut of polish. It’s sad.
I’ve always been a bit of a birthday brat. Announcing countdowns weeks in advance and planning a big to-do. But this year, without even trying, I feel differently. I haven’t given it much thought, other than dreading the fact that I’ll be 29. Drawing back on when I was 15… 29 just sounds dreadfully old. Thirty will probably put me in an early grave.
I blame this change of heart on Paisley, but in the best way. And possibly a little bit of maturity. (My fingers just vomited even typing that word.) This year I could have expensive gifts and make a big thing of my birthday. Or, I could buy diapers, a day or two of babysitting, save for college. Or hell, finish paying for her!
Truth be told, nothing Shelton could buy me will compare to that little girl. And I mean that with every ounce of sincerity I have. I told Shelton the night that Paisley was born that nothing he’d ever give me again would compare to her. And as we arrive at the first real gift-giving event since her birth, I think I’m right. I want to wake up tomorrow morning and see her big face-encompassing, gummy smile, breathe in her good-morning scent and the way she smells like bedtime, cuddle with her as she has a bottle and lose myself in those glassy blue eyes, and feel my heart (and let’s be real, my ovaries) swell with a love and attachment I never knew possible. And maybe eat a blueberry pancake!
One year ago I was a good ten days in to my fertility shots. I was miserable. I was emotional, hormonal, tired, sore and more scared than I’d ever been in my life. Today, I can’t imagine being any more fulfilled. At the dreaded age of 29.
The post I write on this day next year will be much different, summarizing my love affair with my 20s. It feels like a decade that just wouldn’t end… and it also feels like I was packing up my ’89 Camry and headed for my freshman year at OU just yesterday. Who I was then and who I am now are completely different people, yet I know they’d like each other. (Although one would probably choose a shot of hot damn or a coors light and the other a Cab Sauv or Sam Adams Summertime).
I’m proud of myself. And I hate saying things like that because I sound boastful and vain. But I am proud of myself. And I think more people should feel able to say that outloud. Everything in my life I’ve worked damn hard for. The blessings abound, and I don’t take a single one for granted. I’m happy. To my core I’m happy and when I catch myself complaining about how to afford my bills, not owning a house,barely fitting in to my pre-pregnancy clothes or how the A/C is fading in the car… I really do make myself shut-up. I’ve got it so damn good. While I’m not stopping here, as I have a lot of goals, dreams and places to go, IF this moment had to be defined as as good as it gets… then I’m not doing too badly.
I feel like 29 is going to be a farewell tour. I can assure you the comeback tour will start promptly on July 20, 2011.
To me… happy birthday!