32

Well, it's official. I'm 32 years old. How did that happen? I mean, I swear I was just at the skating rink blowing out candles on my 8th birthday cake or having a swim party at Grandpa's house for my 11th birthday. I've always looked forward to my birthday - the parties, the gifts, the friends and family surrounding me and wishing me well. I have great memories of so many birthday parties. We used to have wading pool parties in the backyard, sleepovers with scavenger hunts, and for all those years I was at sleep away camp, my mom would send amazing care packages with a birthday banner that she would have everyone in my family sign before sending it to me. (And, she would sign it once for every year old I was and I would have to find her sweet messages x number of times.) So many years, my bunk mates would wrap my bunk bed in toilet paper and shaving cream, and Mom would send a cookie cake to the counselors for my friends and me to enjoy. For my 16th birthday, I took the trip of a lifetime - left for Israel the day I turned 16. Lots of birthdays celebrated at Kobe Steaks, bowling parties with the whole family, and summer night swim parties. 21st birthday was spent in Austin at Hula Hut and then a bar on 4th street. I had a surprise party when I turned 17 and again before my 30th birthday - and then I rang in my actual 30th birthday in the middle of our honeymoon cruise, specifically in Provence, France! And last year at 31, I had my newborn baby to help me celebrate a year that would bring lots of change!

Like I said, I have always looked forward to my birthday. I used to say it was my favorite day of the year, and when it would end, I would be kind of sad because I had to wait a whole year for it to be my special day again. But, as I've gotten older, the excitement has faded a bit. And, especially now that I have a son, I feel like his milestones, his birthday, even his month-birthdays, are more significant to me. As Sam and I talked in bed last night, I told him I was kind of sad about my birthday. Turning another year older meant less time with Banner. One day I won't be here, and each year passing is like a ticking clock reminding me that I can't go back, time only moves forward, and I'm moving away from my own childhood. Each year older I get, I am closer to the "end." That is a scary thought. I'm not having any kind of mid-life crisis or anything like that, but I certainly feel more saddened by getting older than happy about it. It's like I feel myself saying, "Wait! I'm not ready to be 32 or any other year older! I just want to stay like this!"

I asked Sam last night if he wanted to make out with a 31-year-old for the last time. :) Ha! Too much information? Sorry, but the silly question sparked a weird realization in my head that I want to embrace these relatively young years. Just like I've always said with Banner, today is the youngest I'll ever be, so I may as well enjoy it and live it up! When I look back at my childhood birthdays and all those amazing times, they feel like yesterday - and I know today will feel like yesterday even 20 years from now. I actually remember, for some weird reason, my mom's 36th birthday. I was not quite 8. We were at Grandma's house. I don't remember much more than that - but she was 36, and that feels like yesterday.

Ugh, I'm just feeling so nostalgic and existential at this birthday. We don't know how much time we have left here on Earth with our loved ones. It's crazy to think about all that. It's scary. And, it's so ironic that you spend so much of your childhood waiting for your birthday, waiting to be older - to be 16 and drive, to be 18 and see that movie or to vote, to be 21 and have that drink. Then, at some point, as you realize your time here is limited, you are like, "Someone put on the mother f***in' breaks!"