Today is my 34th birthday.
I was supposed to wake up to kids swarming over me, smothering me in birthday kisses and homemade birthday cards while coffee placed into my tired hands for consumption. I was going to wake up and go run 34 minutes – one minute for each year I’ve been alive.
Instead? I was up all night with Baby Dude, who wanted to wreak havoc on that plan. He even got my husband up around 2 or 3am to join our up-all-night party. It’s been BRUTAL. I have bags under my eyes that have their own zip code.
But today, I’m dealing with an extra year tacked onto my age. These aren’t the lips of a 33-year-old slurping coffee. This isn’t the body of a 33-year-old restarting the dryer or wiping the crust from her once 33-year-old eyes. Today, I am thirty-four. Wow.
I know I often talk about where the time goes for the kids, watching them grow up, all their firsts, etc. But when the hell did I grow up? I still feel as young as I did in college (mostly, except for that whole, I could stay up all night thing. Ahem.). Despite the few more wrinkles and stretch marks from birthing (many) children. I may not be the same size as I was, and have more gray hair than I did back then, but I feel better than I used to before I lost weight, and with running all the time, I feel even better than that!
Happy Thirty Freakin’ Four to me. Despite no sleep, and draggin’ ass this morning thanks to my cranky two-year-old, it’s my birthday today, and I’ll pull myself together in order to celebrate it. I hope I can convince poor tired hubby to do the same. He’s making me a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting later. (My favorite!)
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