I’m 33 years old today.
Birthdays have changed over the years. As a kid it was all about big parties, jelly and ice cream, and suspiciously always winning pass the parcel. In my teens it was sleepovers, sweets and sharing secrets. In my twenties it was booze, bar hopping and besties. Now I’m in my thirties it’s about museums, family and cake. Lots of cake.
No matter what decade one thing has remained constant – my birthday is the one day of the year where it’s all about me!
But I get the feeling that will be changing soon.
It’s been no secret I’ve dreaded the last couple of birthdays. And I find that hard. I never wanted to be the kind of person who dreaded getting older. Getting older is a privilege many would give anything for. But losing Lianne has meant it’s hard not to look back and be conscious of the void opening between us as I get older and she stays forever frozen at 30.
This year it’s different. For the first time in three years I’m filled with excitement that it’s my birthday and hope for the future. You see, all being well, 33 is the age I will become a mother.
I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a precipice. I know what before looks like: the lazy afternoons on the sofa, the freedom to go wherever and whenever I choose, the days rare but real when it’s all about me.
I have no idea what after looks like. All I know is that next year there will be other birthdays and other little people who come first always. I can’t wait. Bring it on 33!