Yes...I'm that old.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be 26. Ok, maybe not, but I can dream. You might not know this, but I hate my birthday. Every year I do the obligatory family birthday dinners. Every year it becomes a bit more difficult to avoid any other celebration. Having a husband who loves birthdays and a toddler that can't stop talking about birthdays is one of my worst nightmares. My birthday is a reminder of all the things I haven't done yet. I haven't been to Paris. I still don't have R.N. behind my name. There is a long list that I wont bore you with. Each year, when someone hears how old I am I get, "Wow. I didn't think you're that old." They say its a compliment, and I know they mean well, but it still stings a little. I don't like to acknowledge that June 7th is anything special. I have even been known (as recently as last year) to deny it was my birthday. Each year, Jon gives me a ton of grief. Its starting to sink in...just a little. I know that if I had done even one thing differently, I might not have met Jon. Ben and Sam wouldn't even be a distant thought. Thinking about that makes me sad. In a lot of ways, its a good thing that my to do list is still so long. So, with that in mind, I'm going to try to keep my head up tomorrow. I'll try not to cringe when I hear the word birthday. I will try to proudly admit that I will be 33. However, cut me some slack if you see me "mourning" (just a little) over another year gone!