Birthday.

44 today. Not feeling particularly good about it, though I know in 10 years I’ll be wishing so hard I had appreciated this day more. Lots to reflect on today. Looking back over pictures of little me and wondering where that happy, innocent girl went (and boy do I wish I had that flat chest again that I complained about so much in my pre-teen years. I still miss the ability to wear cute shirts).

Having a birthday in the coldest, darkest month of the year has never been fun for a variety of reasons. I guess I’m feeling a bit melancholy and defeated, though I want to feel more “take charge” and tiger-like, but it’s just not coming right now. Maybe that’s part of the norovirus recovery process.

My son brought me in a card this morning and I pretended not to know why and said, “Wow, what’s this?” and he said, as if I were really stupid, “It’s your BIRFDAY, Mama!” He did run after me to get one last hug before I dropped him off in his room this morning, which was sweet. Every morning I drop him off now, I imagine the Newtown parents who dropped their little darling off, waved goodbye and said how they loved him, and then drove to work, never to see their child alive again. I value him so much, and perhaps that’s the best thing about today after all. I can’t wait to see him again tonight.

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