Disclaimer: I could not find any peppermint tea this morning and instead had to write under the influence of cappuccino. Be warned.
Sunday is my birthday. Yeahhhhhhhhh. I will be making 37, which brings me closer and closer to 40. For those of you who are shocked that I revealed my age; guess what. I don’t care. This belief that you should never ask a woman her age, or that she should be afraid to tell, is pure crap. A woman should be proud of her age, it should be your medal that you wear boldly on your chest, announcing to the world that yes I am alive. I have made wonderful and not so wonderful decisions. I have lived long enough to have laughed, cried, love and even hated a few people. Hey I am not perfect, perfection is boring. I am however slowly starting to not just like myself but love the woman I am and who I will be. I have accepted that though many people may have gotten to this point way earlier in their lives; that each person has to walk their own path at their own time. My path may not have been as straight as others, it had curves, dips and an occasional pink pony (family joke)
My 37 years have brought with it a lifetime of experiences. Some of these experiences I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy; but I acknowledge that there have always been more smiles than tears and more laughter than fears.
I have grown proud of the soft stretch marks that have made themselves at home on my body. Soft marks on my body are not marks of shame but battle scars. I have carried two children to full term. Both of my pregnancies were described by doctors to be high risk. This risk was then mitigated with cervical cerclage, months of bed rest and medication weekly injections into my butt. Let us now take a moment as I remember how every week my butt was painfully ( that shit hurt) injected with medication to keep my already strong minded babies in my stomach another week. My baby marks are my photos to remind me of the sacrifice any mother would make to see the innocent smile of their children, I don’t regret any line, or moment of it and would do it again.
As I get closer to this birthday I feel more at peace than I have felt with many. Note this does not mean that I am not exhausted and still in need of multiple clones. Just last night I burnt my fingers with hot glue helping my daughter with a school project (she better get an A+) It simply means that this age I am more comfortable with me. I see my faults, I see my challenges and I am willing to work on them. Yes I can easily wrap a lot of my drama up into what was done to me and not by me, but I’m too grown to not take responsibility for my own shit (yeah I’m still working on my potty mouth, ahhhh that will take some time)
I am not sure what I am going to do for my birthday this year. My TO DO LIST for this month is beyond ridiculous, but that is life. I may stay in bed and dribble the day away, may go to church (more than likely) then dribble the day away. You must understand that my love affair with my bed is better than any love story that William Shakespeare could have written. This is an epic love. Leaving my bed every day is a traumatic experience, but the reunion at nights is worth it. But if I am realistic, I may just spend the whole day doing chores and reading a book…who knows.
At the end of the day I am thankful for each day I am given. I am going to take this week to be selfish and take an hour every day to just think about ME. Yes not the kids, chores, family, friends, world balance…. I’m just going to focus on me and me. Clearly the cappuccino is making me a bit too perky and happy for a Monday morning, I may soon start farting rainbows if I keep drinking this magical brew, for the idea of getting a whole hour to block out the world is going to be a gift and miracle in itself. Oh well, here’s to farting rainbows.