On Wednesday I turned 34. My niece, Lily, spent the day with us and wished me “happy birthday” no fewer than ten times. She also sang a darling two-year-old rendition of the birthday song at least twice at dinner.
Lily and I don’t know each other very well—Sam and I have lived in Kazakhstan nearly her entire life—but today she told me that she likes me; that we’re friends. That’s good stuff for this momma-to-be. (I’ll admit that I’m under her spell: it is heart-meltingly cute when she reaches up to gently pat my huge belly and says, “baby.”)
Another Wednesday milestone: “baby” hit the 35 week mark. Not long now. And, for the first time ever, I have a sense of why birthdays are so important for parents, too—what a monumentally life-changing day!
I won’t reach my 250-word goal this week. Instead, I tried to capture my (quiet, mostly uneventful) birthday at home—the first with my parents in…ten? Maybe fifteen years? Even 34 years on, it’s still a special day for them.