Yesterday was my birthday, and I turned the ripe old age of
37 years old. I don’t feel 37. What is 37 supposed to feel like anyway? I remember thinking when I was a little kid, about 8 or 9 years
old, that someone in their 30’s was old.
My Mom was in her 30’s at the time, and even though she didn’t look old or
act old, she was my MOM. That meant she
was old. Now it’s my turn. I’m 37, and
let be honest with each other, that’s practically 40. My Mom was 23 when she had me. I was 34 when I had Dom. That’s almost 10 years difference. So Dom will probably think I’m practically
ancient when he’s old enough to understand that stuff.
The weird thing is, I know my age is going up every year,
but I honestly don’t feel like I’m getting older. Is that denial that is so often talked
about? Is it because I still experience
things at this age that I thought people in this age group had all figure
out. Things like weight issues. Heartache.
Acne. Maybe it’s because I’m
young at heart and that stops me from living old? Whatever it is, I’m ok with it. 37 doesn’t scare me. I’m cool with it.
I have a lot to be thankful for on my birthday. Family that loves me. Friends that stand by me. A job that pays, even if it is part time. A good man in my life. I am very lucky to have a good life. Yes there are ups and downs, but everyone has
that. The things that I struggle with
are things that are making me who I am.
Not anything to complain about.
The best thing in my life? My
beautiful son. Dominic is the best gift
every year. His smiling face and
hilarious personality reminds me that no matter what happens in my life, I got
one thing right.
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