21 Mar

Not a basketball score.

My new age. My new decade.

(Sidebar: I find it cruelly unfair that my birthday always coincides with the obsessive TV-watching event that is March Madness)

And guess what?  It wasn’t a big deal.  Turning 28 and 29 were much harder on me – I felt like time was slipping away, like I hadn’t accomplished all that I should have by that point. Oh what a difference a fifteen pound bundle of joy can make in a girl’s (should I say old lady now?) mindset.

Last week, I welcomed thirty.  I welcomed it not only as a daughter, sister and wife, but as a mother.  I was more interested in ensuring Luke had a good day than that I did.  I wanted to show him the birthday balloon daddy he hung on his crib as an early morning surprise for me.  I wanted him to ogle the brightly colored birthday wrapping paper.  I wanted to hurry home from dinner to put him to bed so as to not miss sweet baby smiles and hugs before the night was over.

I’m sure many people will define me by my new age.  Afterall, answering “I’m thirty” carries a far different implication than any answer starting with “twenty…”  But, I’ll define myself as “Luke’s Mama.”  And, with that, I welcome this decade and hope to fill it with smiles, giggles, cuddles, books, board games, playing outside, bike rides,  swimming adventures, beach vacations and more.

So this thirty year old Mama says thanks.

Thanks to everyone who made my birthday special.

Thanks to everyone who made the first thirty years better than I ever could have dreamed.

Thanks to my son who made me who I am today and will be forever.



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