In the old days, birthdays were a big deal. Second only to Christmas. I always insisted on a bakery cake, cake optional, icing mandatory, roses preferred. "Floral" isn't really me and never really was, but how else can you justify huge globs of cream cheese icing disguised as legitimate birthday cake design? Keep your fondant, give me a bakery cake with a 4:1 ratio of icing/cake.
In the old days, gayly wrapped presents greeted you in the morning on the kitchen table. If it was a school day, you brought cupcakes to school. If you were lucky beyond your wildest expectations, it snowed the night before and school was, Oh Joy, cancelled. And birthday cards from grandparents. Open card, turn upside down, watch cash or check gently float to the ground. Birthdays also meant that you got to sit in the front seat of the car, while your sibling seethed in the back.
Today's my birthday. I'm 38. I feel like I'm 25, but any visit to the RE reinforces that I'm not. It's hard not to feel the wrinkles and less firm skin when you hear the words "at your age," or "I don't think you should wait any longer." My assurances that my lady parts are indeed youthful and glowing are, well, ignored. I'm not taking it personally. Good REs aren't known for their senses of humor, I hear.
Aside from this infertility hullaballoo, I've enjoyed being in my 30s. I like that I'm the boss of me (except for my real boss, of course, but he only thinks he's the boss). If I were in my 20s I wouldn't have had my E, so I have my 30s to thank. I also wouldn't have this job if I were in my 20s, so my 30s have been financially kind to me. My 30s have also brought me some wonderful friendships, so I thank my 30s for the emotional support. And it should be noted that I can have bakery cakes any time I want. Or shoes. I get to make those choices in my 30s, you see.
Hmmm. Or not. Pass the cake.