Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me.
Happy Birthday to Meee-eeee.
Happy Birthday to.... wait. Birthday? How old does this put me over the edge now?
Seriously, when I was 5, I didn't care how old I was going to be, just wanted to cake, presents, and attention for a whole day. All to myself. And then when I was 8, I just wanted to coolest little girl's party ever. Then 13, I just wanted to be cool. And then 16, the license. At 18, I was finally considered an adult and figured I'd rule the world sooner rather than later (seems it is much later than anticipated). And then the whole 21, I can legally drink thing. Then I didn't care so much. Honestly, I didn't.
At 25 (shocked), I was an adult. Paid for my own insurance and car payments. Then at 27, I laughed because suddenly everyone kept telling me I was getting closer to 30 and should be worried. Worried about what? I mean, it is just an age. And I still only felt like I was a 16 year old trapped in some older and somewhat more spongy body. Then I did turn 30. To which I would have been fine with a nice steak dinner and a quiet evening at home. But the Husband thought it wise to celebrate with a Hawaiian Party. The hangover the next day did remind me I was far from the 16 year old I felt like in my head.
But now? Well, I have to count. Seriously. Okay, born in 1975, it is 2007, okay, that puts me at 32. Sigh. Ah. Age. Such a silly thing to actually think about. But then again, I can vote, drink, wear a bra, and well have another kid. What difference does another year really make?
Happy Birthday to Meee-eeee.
Happy Birthday to.... wait. Birthday? How old does this put me over the edge now?
Seriously, when I was 5, I didn't care how old I was going to be, just wanted to cake, presents, and attention for a whole day. All to myself. And then when I was 8, I just wanted to coolest little girl's party ever. Then 13, I just wanted to be cool. And then 16, the license. At 18, I was finally considered an adult and figured I'd rule the world sooner rather than later (seems it is much later than anticipated). And then the whole 21, I can legally drink thing. Then I didn't care so much. Honestly, I didn't.
At 25 (shocked), I was an adult. Paid for my own insurance and car payments. Then at 27, I laughed because suddenly everyone kept telling me I was getting closer to 30 and should be worried. Worried about what? I mean, it is just an age. And I still only felt like I was a 16 year old trapped in some older and somewhat more spongy body. Then I did turn 30. To which I would have been fine with a nice steak dinner and a quiet evening at home. But the Husband thought it wise to celebrate with a Hawaiian Party. The hangover the next day did remind me I was far from the 16 year old I felt like in my head.
But now? Well, I have to count. Seriously. Okay, born in 1975, it is 2007, okay, that puts me at 32. Sigh. Ah. Age. Such a silly thing to actually think about. But then again, I can vote, drink, wear a bra, and well have another kid. What difference does another year really make?
Labels: life
