It’s my birthday.
But it doesn’t feel like my birthday. Not anymore. Not since having The Boys.
I’m sure most moms feel this way … right?
Because the second you find out there is life inside of you – – there is nothing that is solely about you anymore. Not one single thing.
From that moment forward, in everything you do, in everything you think, in every action you take — in the back of your mind is this other person.
Sometimes this depresses me. Sometimes this fills me with unspeakable joy. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Sometimes it’s calming.
I used to love my birthday. It’s not that I don’t not like it anymore … it’s just … different.
Less significant. Less meaningful in the ways it used to mean something.
I don’t care about the gifts. Or the stuff. I care about my kids.
SO today : I spent it outside. I went to two of my favorite parks. I logged over 18,000 steps.
I soaked in the sunshine and laughter of my six and sixteen month old.
I was with my family.
This year was good. This day was good. This next trip around the sun will be all these things and more.