Today was my birthday. According to my friends, I've now reached the last age I'm ever going to be - 29. Birthdays used to be a reason to get excited. Growing up is the ultimate purpose of childhood, isn't it? The problem is, once you are grown up, there's no more reason to get excited about getting older.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not at all worried about getting older. I think there are too many women so obsessed with youth that they lie about their age. There is no point. If you're married, nobody cares. If you're single, do you really want a man to date you based on how young he thinks you are? And don't you think if that relationship becomes more permanent, he will eventually figure out you're not as young as you claimed. If he loves you, he's not going to care what your age is. He might care a little about being lied to.
What bothers me is what usd to be a huge celebration is now only marked by the "major" birthdays. I'm sure I'll get a helluva party next year when I'm 30 (oops, I mean 29 again), but this year I got dinner with the fam at a local steakhouse. Nice enough, really, just a bit distracting with a 3-year-old climbing all over my lap and a whiny 6-year-old who should have gone to bed half an hour before we ate. We won't even get into my husband's complaints about how "selfish" I was being. Ugh.
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