I'm Just a Kid

Today is my birthday and I have writer's block.  I feel that I should have something marginally important to say, but I don't.

There's only this: thirty-five is not nearly as old as I once thought it would be. But you knew that already.

When the P-Dawg got into medical school, I remember counting forward through all the years that would be "wasted" with school and residency before, as I then saw it, our lives could begin.

By my calculations, we would both be thirty-three when all was said and done - there would be no choice but to go straight from our apartment into the old folks' home.  Yet here I am, squarely in my thirties and you wouldn't even know it, save for the trick knee.

Okay, and the metabolism.  Plus that frumpy mom aura that keeps following me around, compelling me to put squares of toilet paper down before sitting on a public commode and say things like "Do you think I put those barrettes in your hair for my health???"

(Which I did say, just the other day, in fact, and I'll tell you something: it felt right.  Although it appeared to have zero impact on the V-meister, who simply continued dragging her recently washed mane back and forth through a plate full of spaghetti.)  

For most of my life to date, I've been waiting.  But now that I'm at that place that was always just a speck on the horizon, I can't help but notice that I've covered some pretty quality ground. Every event or accomplishment upon which I place real value - my marriage, the birth of my children, my decision to write in this space regularly, regardless of how clumsy my words feel - has transpired during a period of time that I once dismissed as limbo.

Every year on my birthday, my mom calls in the morning.  Usually she and my dad will get on the horn and sing "Happy Birthday" as soon as I pick up.  No matter how many times they do it, I can't help but stand there holding my coffee mug and grinning like a fool at the image of the two of them huddled around the rotary phone, singing at the top of their lungs.  It makes me feel as though I'm ten and just woke up to a Strawberry Shortcake bike with a glitter infused banana seat and sparkly handlebar streamers.

And here I am, thirty-five.