Girl Talk: Birthdays, it’s a Numbers Game

Happy Birthday to Me

My Birthday is just days away.

I’m turning 33.

33. On paper it’s kind of a ho-hum number with all it’s soft round curves. It’s divisible only by itself and the numbers one, three and 11. 11 is another of one those boring numbers. One more than 10, but not quiet enough to equal a nice full dozen. 33 is three years beyond the milestone age of 30, but seven long years away from 40. Seven long years to wonder if I’ll feel old at 40, or if Oprah’s right and 40 really is the new 30.

33 isn’t filled with exciting new possibilities like 16, 18 and 21. It isn’t a day filled with laughter and poking fun at yourself because you’re over-the-hill like 40, 50 and 60. It isn’t a day to look forward to peaceful years of retirement like 65.  It isn’t a day when suddenly everyone sees you as wise like 70. It isn’t a day like 75 and all the birthdays after when you’re just happy to still be alive. It’s just… 33.

26 was the birthday that hit me hard. All my years growing up, 25 was, in my mind, the ideal age. I thought 25 was the age when everything all came together. 25 was pretty good, but it only lasted a year. So when 26 came around I was sad when I realized I’d never be my ideal age again.

It was also around my 26th birthday that I stopped being able to remember how old I was. Sometimes I have to really think about it. It takes some fuzzy math to come up with an answer. Am I 32? Maybe I’m already 33. I can’t remember. Lets see. I was born in 1975… 2008 minus 1975 is…, I was 18 when I graduated from high school in 1993 and my husband is two years younger than me, he’s 29 — no 30… I just turned 30 the spring after my son was born and he’s almost 3 1/2 so, um, 33, yes I’m going to be 33.

Surprisingly 30 wasn’t a difficult birthday for me at all. When I turned 30, I finally felt grown up. Like I was really an adult now. The carefree 20’s were behind me, and I was ready for real life and real responsibilities. I finally knew who I was and had enough wisdom and courage to be that person.

I’m holding on to 32 for a few more days. It sounds young the way the “oo” on the end of two rolls off the tounge. It looks young with the sharp corner and flashy straight line on the end of the 2. It says I’m still close enough to 29 to be hip and in-the-know.

It’s not that I’m afraid to get older. There’s enough hair color and Oil of Olay to stave off the physical aging process a few more years. Actually I owe a lot of my attitude about aging to my mother. I don’t remember ever hearing her lament about growing older or dreading an upcoming birthday. She’s never been embarrassed to tell anyone her age. I can’t recall her complaining about wrinkles or getting white hair. And the older she gets the younger that age seems. I once would have thought 61 was ancient. She’s anything but ancient. Age is a badge of honor to be worn proudly. All the scars, all the smiles, add up to a knowledge gained only from  life’s successes and failures. A knowledge to be revered and celebrated. And learned from.

33 will pass quietly, an uneventful birthday, another tick mark on the calendar. And I’ll be dreaming of 35. Now there’s a number. Bold and strong. Neatly divisible by seven sets of five. Halfway to 40. 35 says I’ve been around the block a few times and now I really know what I’m doing.

Here’s to one more year!

In the Pink

This website is about as girlie as you can get. It combines two of my favorite things, shoes and the color pink. That’s right ladies there is an on-line store that specializes exclusively in pink shoes. Who knew? With 1608 items to choose from, the Pink Shoe Center has everything from heels to sneakers. Shipping is free both ways, so if the shoe doesn’t fit, return it without any hassle.

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