Posted by: Ingrid | December 2, 2011


I entered 32 for my age into the elliptical at the gym yesterday and felt weird.  I am still waiting for a birthday to catch me like thirty did, feeling competent and on top of the world.  Thirty-one and thirty-two have felt much more messy which I could probably blame on the kids and the huge changes that parenting makes to one’s world.

Thirty-two years and I still can’t accept that the only constant is change.  I hate change so much.

I am still the idealist who dreams of a birthday devoted completely to the birthday girl, so in that sense, my birthday was not so kind to me.  I did get a chunk of almost 6 hours of sleep from Jonathan, his longest stretch so far, which was the most birthday-ish thing I could expect from him.

Isaac has not learned how to decorate, which saddens me a little.  Nor can he make breakfast in bed or do the dishes or make carrot cake.  Which leads me to ask, what good are toddlers if they can’t do the important stuff? 😛

I also made the mistake of scheduling my husband’s annual physical on my birthday.  Dumb.

It was a little sad hearing my alarm at 5:30 and trying to decide if I should give myself the gift of an extra hour of sleep or the gift of my workout at the gym.  Usually when I am torn between options A and B I will only choose A if I can figure out at least two contingency plans to make sure that B happens.  I couldn’t do that, so I setttled for hitting snooze twice.  Oh the decadence of ten stolen minutes.

Also decadent was the fact that I ignored my weight lifting and did 80 minutes on the elliptical instead, finishing a novel I am reading as well as skipping around on my ipod listening to songs that particularly struck me on my birthday.  What I wouldn’t give for a run right now.  A nice long, therapeutic, relaxing run.

Came home to Isaac, who said, “Happy birthday, Mom!” and to Jonathan, who cried.  And so ensued the next few crazy hours as I struggled to get us all fed and clothed and managed to make Isaac think that he lived in time out.  Also, he learned the word, “crap” in context, thanks to a cup of old coffee spilled all over my planner and our white carpet.  I’m such a good mom.

I did get to hang out with a friend and her daughter in the morning, which led to some cute moments.

I also scored a two hour nap from Isaac, who has been napping atrociously all week but pulled himself together just in time for my birthday.  He also got to start the Advent calendar that I found with a piece of chocolate for each day.  This means that he is now confusing God, Jesus, and chocolate.  The calendar is living up on top the fridge and he keeps asking: “Jesus?  Wanna come down?”

Then a little physical therapy fun and back home to get ready to go out to a nice dinner for Clint and my collective birthdays and anniversary, which we completely missed due to having just had a baby.

We had a great dinner (and had a gift card, which made things even better), and I got a slice (I think that is the wrong term for this slab of chocolate) of German chocolate cake with a candle to blow out, on the house.

I will note that no one sang happy birthday.  In fact, I was the only one to sing to myself when I was teaching Isaac the birthday song.  Awkward.

Sometimes I hate being an adult.  No candles, no singing, and you have to spend your birthday money on practical things that you need.  I don’t hate it enough to give up my crazy guys though. 🙂

So now I am entering year thirty-three, which, thanks to my husband, I keep thinking of as my Jesus year.  Husband spent last year thinking about it being his thirty-third year and hence, his Jesus year (since some believe that Jesus was thirty-three when he died), and then realized that it was actually his thirty-fourth year and not his thirty-third.  So he successfully missed his year, just in time to remind me that I’m starting mine (because you really only get one year to ponder what it is to say to God, “Not my will, but yours be done…”).  Not that keeping that at the back of my mind is a bad thing, it just makes me uncomfortably aware of my acute selfishness some most days

If I could make two wishes for my thirty-third year it would be these:

To run again (and run fast) without pain.  But mostly just run because I am really starting to go crazy with the not running at this point.

Secondly, I would really like to learn to love (or maybe appreciate and enjoy are better verbs for what I’m thinking) life with small children.  You would think that having done the kid thing once I would have it down for round two, but I most decidedly do not.  In fact, this may be one of the few areas where doing something once doesn’t have any impact on how things go the second time around.

Anyway, that’s what I’d wish.  Though I suppose that now that I’ve told you my wishes they won’t come true.

Oh well.

*Blows out imaginary blog candles*

Here’s to thirty-three!



  1. Here are a few thoughts: I must be one great sitter if you got 6 hours from JRo and a two hour nap from “I.” I know I sleep really well after such activity.

    I already promise to not forget that you have a birthday on December 1 – which follows November 30 too closely – that the calendar doesn’t get turned in time to help me remember! I’ll try to do better next year, even though you share my dad’s birthday, I didn’t remember in time to actually make you feel special (which you deserve to feel, because you’re terrific!).

    Love you bunches. Happy Birthday!

  2. Thanks, Ginny! I figured that you whispered in Isaac and Jonathan’s ears: “Sleep, sleep, SLEEP!” and they obeyed. 🙂

  3. Happy belated birthday! Hope you get that run you wished for soon!

  4. Happy birthday, a little late 🙂 I have the same feeling on my adult birthdays: it should be all about me, and somehow it never really is. Sad! But six hours of sleep is nothing to sneeze at these days…quite a generous gift really!

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