I can't really be sure yet but I don't think much has changed in me since yesterday except that yesterday I was thirty and today I am thirty-one. Yesterday I was thirty and today I am thirty-something.
Turning thirty was a big deal. Only it wasn't. I had a birthday party at a bar. I got drunk. I ate red velvet cake. For the week leading up to my birthday I laughed with my husband that he should buy me therapy as my gift and if not psychological therapy then medical therapy- as in botox. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirtieth year of life I was like, This is it? This is thirty? This is what the fuss was all about? I'm taking back the botox and therapy and exchanging them for a sensible pair of shoes. Ones that won't blister my feet.
Thirty was twenty-nine only with longer hair and a great deal more tears.
Turning thirty-something wasn't a big deal. Only it was. I woke up and ate Leif's tasty pancakes made from a recipe for waffles. I found a velvet painting of a tall ship at a thrift store. I had lunch with my family and ate ice cream at a Baskin Robbins. I cried because I wished my baby was alive and because I wasn't supposed to be having this birthday without him. For the week leading up to my birthday I wished that I could just skip it and get another shot at making thirty consist of 100% less death than it had the first time. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirty-first year of life I am like, This is it. This is thirty-something without him. This is what all the fuss was about. I'm exchanging my sensible pair of shoes for more sessions with my therapist.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that thirty-one will be twenty-nine only with more employment and only a moderate amount of more tears.
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