Today I turned 44. With people living into their 90s on a regular basis, I can’t even say I’m middle-aged yet, can I? My grandmother is almost 100. I’m not even halfway through at this point.
It has been a nice day so far, and it’s not even over yet. The kids are at camp, so I was able to take the day off from work and have a quiet house to myself for the day. I went to my grandmother’s for a bit, then came home to chill. I’m about to head out to finally see “Star Trek Into Darkness” by myself (I’m okay with that). Then tonight Denis is taking me out to dinner (we’re doing tapas – yum!). Sounds like a nice, simple day, doesn’t it?
I’ve said it just about every year a birthday passes me by: I still feel 27. I don’t know when that will stop. In my head I’m 27, even if my knees creak when I kneel down to help my daughter pick up her clothes from the floor, or my hip twinges if I turn the wrong way too fast, or my back hurts if my son uses me as a personal jungle gym a bit longer than he should.
I hope that 44 is a good year for me. I’m certainly planning for it to be.
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