Today is my 35th birthday and honestly, I can’t believe I’m 35. I know some of y’all are thinking 35 isn’t old and it’s really not, but it’s not an age I ever imagined myself being. Last year when I turned 34, I told P. “You know 34 is really the last age where you sound young.” He said “I hate to tell you, but 34 doesn’t really sound that young.” Oh, he’s a smooth talkin’ devil.
Gulley’s taking me to lunch today to celebrate. A real live adult lunch that won’t involve high chairs or chicken fingers cut up in a million pieces or a 9 month old throwing up saltine crackers. We’ll actually get to visit and laugh without someone saying “excuse me mama, excuse me mama, EXCUSE ME MAMA.”
Then tonight, I think P. is going to cook me a steak dinner which is one of my favorite things in the world. Give me a steak with some grilled jalapenos stuffed with cream cheese and I’m a happy girl or woman seeing as how I’m 35.
So, what did I think 35 would look like? I don’t know for sure, but I think it involved 3 kids in a minivan, being President of the PTA, not caring about fashion and how I looked, and having a husband that wore a suit to work everyday. I thought I would be very wise and very mature…you know, from all my life experience.
What does it look like now that I’m here? Well, I have one child and don’t know that I’m going to have another one, therefore we don’t really need a minivan. Caroline is 3, so while I may volunteer for the fall festival at her preschool, I’m a long way from President of the PTA. I still want to look cute in my jeans (although y’all know how I feel about the return of the skinny leg and I can’t even discuss this whole leggings and miniskirt thing) and read InStyle as soon as it comes out every month. And as far as my husband wearing a suit everyday, well P. is a youth minister and owns a landscape company, so unless he’s performing a wedding for someone, suits just aren’t that practical in the Texas heat.
As far as being wise and mature, well…I definitely have more wisdom now than I did in my twenties but honestly, that just means I have enough sense not to ride with a total stranger to Oklahoma City (a story for another time).
And can you be considered mature when you laugh every. single. time. that your child toots or holds her own nose when she poops?
I have to say that reality is better than anything I could have imagined. It may not be perfect, but who needs perfection? As a wise,mature 35 year old, I’ve learned that perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.