Yesterday was my 35th birthday.
Never have I had so many candles on my cake. And it should be a numbers of years before I have so many candles on my cake again. You see, David and Mary decorated my cake, and for it to fulfill their artistic vision, they ended up needing 41 candles. What's a mom to do? Happily blow out 41 candles, of course. But I expect 35 candles when I turn 41.
(Speaking of being 35, I am officially "of advanced maternal age," which basically means nothing except that I can have lots of extra screenings done if I want. When I remarked to the nurse that being labeled "of advanced maternal age" made me feel old, she told me it used to be worse. The files of pregnant women 35 and over at the clinic used to be marked with a big fat ELDERLY. Yikes.)
It was a nice birthday. Greg took me to lunch, and afterwards we picked out a new kitchen sink and counter tops. (It's disturbing how many of our dates over the past couple of years have ended at Home Depot. What did we do together when we rented?)
The kids were sweet, and, as always, their enthusiasm was the best part of the day. Though they had a hard time fathoming 35. Perhaps they should give 41 a try.
