Growing old

This morning at 4:30am, as I sat in my glider nursing Jack, I thought about my birthday and how I was always excited about my birthdays in the past. I never understood why some people hated their birthdays because it was a reminder that they were getting older. I never felt like that because I never felt old. Until this year. Then, Tom's alarm clock went off and he rolled over and whispered across the room to me, "Happy birthday, babe. How are you feeling?" I told him I felt old. That my stomach was saggy with stretch marks. That I had gray hair, hemorrhoids, and an incision that wouldn't heal. (I know, I'm a catch aren't I?) (And yet Tom still tells me every day how attractive I am...go figure.) (Also, I totally realize that I am using these parentheses wrong. Sorry, Mrs. Jenkins.)

So, after listening to me talk about why I feel so old, Tom responds with his standard, "You're beautiful, babe" and gets out of bed to shower. What happens next fully deserves a more detailed post, but I feel I overshare as it is so I will just tell you that we spent the next 15 minutes accusing each other of pooing in the bed until I finally flipped on the light and realized it was just a purple fruit snack that had been smeared around (thanks, Ellie) (Also, we are very sleep deprived) (Ack! Again with the misused parentheses!).

Anyway, after Tom left for work, I lay in bed with Jack snuggled up to against my chest, making his little happy humming noises. Suddenly, I felt so very content and I realized...31 is going to be awesome.