Yesterday morning I was getting my teeth cleaned, and the dental hygienist happily chirped:
I saw your birthday on your chart. I noticed that you're turning 30 this year!
She had her tools and stuff in my mouth at the time, so I wasn't able to speak. My first instinct was to correct her, "No ma'am, I am not going to be thirty!". Seriously, I think we should all walk around with fingers and tools in our mouths all the time, so our brains have some time to think before we speak. See, I AM going to be thirty this year. Actually, in just a few months.
At that moment, 30 sounded shocking to me. It sounded grown up. I didn't disagree with her because I didn't want to be thirty, I disagreed because I just found it unbelievable.
I'm not the only person who is getting older. Ramona will turn one in exactly one week. ONE. Prepare yourself for a deluge of posts about this girl's birth and birthday and birthday party. I'm realizing that your own personal birthday is just a day to get older. But for your mother it is an event, it is the day the biggest thing ever happened. It is a day to remember.