Happy Birthday to moi

Well, I'm 35. Thirty-five. That's basically, practically, nearly 40.
But you know what? I'm okay with that.

The last five years, my birthday hasn't been much of a celebration. I turned 30 two weeks after an emergency appendectomy (and the loss of Dave's grandmother). The next four years went like this: pregnant, nursing, pregnant, nursing. And not just pregnant, but first-trimester, so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open, so sick I subsisted on cheese toast, pregnant. Then not just nursing but pumping-around-the-clock nursing. (I know I complained of this just a few posts ago, but hey, years of both Thanksgivings and birthdays and Christmas holidays have been compromised by the rigors of growing and rearing babies).

In fact, I haven't been much for celebrating much of anything about myself. When I left my job after six years, I refused all offers of Board dinners or cocktail parties, and only reluctantly submitted myself to a staff breakfast on my last day at the very last minute (and then turned the whole thing melancholy with my tears.)

But you know what? It's time to celebrate. This year, I feel as if life is moving forward. I feel like saying, okay, let's celebrate me.

I had a preview tonight when Dave and his parents cooked up a delicious dinner to my specifications: flank steak with chimichurri sauce, mashed potatoes, spinach salad with hard-boiled eggs and bacon, butternut squash (Dave's addition), and, for dessert, pumpkin cupcakes and mint-chocolate-chip ice cream. Oh, and Pete got me a bottle of Mommy's Time Out red wine, which I am polishing off right now (don't worry, I shared.) Clio and Eleri made me drawings. Dave got me a throw pillow I was dying for but which was cost-prohibitive (he got it 70% off!), and I got to open early Christmas presents from Barb and Pete. And it's not even actually by birthday yet!

Tomorrow, I get to indulge in one of my favorite activities: sitting on an airplane, reading a book, with no obligations and no one to bother me. (That's right: the girls are staying here with their grandparents. Perhaps one of the greatest gifts ever, though not actually intended for my birthday.) I'll surely watch the movie, no matter how bad, and drink the complimentary diet coke. (It's the little things).

Then, I get to spend a weekend in NY, with my husband, and to remember what it is like to go to bed when we feel like it and wake up when we feel like it and feed ourselves whatever we want, whenever we want. I get to do some Christmas shopping in an actual store. I get to get my haircut. I get to have dinner with my mom's group. And another dinner with my aunt and uncle and cousins. And then, when all of the celebrating is done, there's one more celebration to come: we close on our house on Monday.

And then, the following week, reunited with my children who will almost certainly be even cuter and smarter and funnier and sweeter than even I ever knew, we will all head off to MN, where I will celebrate again with (more of) my family.

And to all of that, I say:

yes, please.