One more year

I am officially one more year older as of Saturday.  I am 29.

Stop laughing.

I have to tell my children that because the two youngest can’t say their “Th” sound, which means “Th” sounds like “F” so when they say my age they place me well into a decade that I’m not prepared to enter.

When I was a 19 year old college girl, I began dating a boy who was, at the time, a senior.  One night as we sat in his apartment, I asked him how old he was.  “23,” he replied.  And I almost had a heart attack because OMG 23 was so old.

One year after marrying my husband, we headed over to the home of a couple who was one life phase ahead of us.  They had three young kids, a big house and were everything we thought we wanted to be.  It was my birthday.  “How old are you today?” they asked.

“23,” I replied.  And they laughed.  “Do you remember 23, babe?” she asked her husband.

“Barely,” he replied and I laughed along with them but for a different reason because OMG 23 felt so old.

Shortly thereafter I began having children.  And I waddled around, 25 and knocked up.  Feeling so old. Despite the fact, however, that I looked to be no older than a teenager in a very precarious position.

Then I hit 29 (where I have remained) and I finally felt at peace with my age.  When you have three children and you’re under thirty, you tend to get a look or two.  It’s a look of pity and wonderment.  Three kids already, huh? I got asked more than once. So 29 felt right…it felt good.

So I stopped there.  Mentally, anyway.  The truth is, I’m only in my early thirties.  I’m two whole years away from my mid-thirties so there’s really no need to acknowledge the thirties at all, in my opinion.

And there sure as heck isn’t any reason to tell my kids my age.  Because if I do, then whenever they’re asked how old mommy is, their reply will be, “Mommy if fowty-fwee.”

And h@#^ no I’m not.  I’m nowhere near the 4-number.  I can’t be because OMG forty is so old.

Stop  laughing.

Obviously, age is just a number and it’s all relative.  Forty really isn’t that old, but in my mind, it seems old.  I remember my parents turning forty, for cryin’ out loud.  But whatever.  The older you get, the younger old looks…right, Dad?

But I’m a long way from the 4 number so there’s no need to worry about that anyway.  Moving on…

So the number may  not be my favorite thing but, I have to say, that in my 29-ish years of life the greatest accomplishment I’ve had by far are these three:


I still feel like that little 19 year old girl floating on the cloud of youth (just the fact that I am compelled to refer to anyone under the age of 25 as “little” or “kid” is evidence of my age…) but I will gladly grow older because each year brings new joys, new blessings and the chance to watch those sweet kids grow.

I’ll take that in exchange for a few new wrinkles.  But just a few!

Just please, don’t ask them to say my real age until we’ve had a little time to work with a speech therapist.  Deal?

Stop.  Laughing!