My birthday was this week. I turned the big 32. Ok, so that number doesn't exactly deserve a special "big" before it. In fact, there's really nothing special about 32 at all. When you're a kid, every birthday is exciting. And it seemed like FOREVER until the next one came along.
The cruel irony of adulthood is that your birthdays seem to get closer and closer, when really you'd prefer them to be spread further and further apart. After 21, then 30, the years just blur together. Sometimes, it even takes a while to remember just how old you are when someone asks.
But, don't get me wrong. I love to celebrate my birthdays. I enjoy getting to do things I want and eat where I like. I've always been a bit sensitive about my birthday. As any person with a birthday near a holiday will attest, birthdays can get overlooked in favor of whatever national holiday is going on around the same time. For me, it is Thanksgiving. Because Thanksgiving moves, my birthday is sometimes on the actual day, and sometimes as much as six days later, as it was this year. The years it falls on Thanksgiving or the day after are the worst.
This year, however, I had a great birthday. Cory took the day off work. I went on a long morning run, then he brought me Starbucks. We went to Einstein's for breakfast, then he took Charlotte to her music class so I could go home and take a nap. In the afternoon, I got a pedicure, then we drove to Lawrence for dinner at McAlister's. We even topped off the night with a cupcake from Smallcakes. Yup, I did indeed eat my way through my birthday. (Thus the need for the long morning run.)
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| With Charlotte on my actual birthday. |
