Regularly Scheduled Programming

I turned thirty-five while we were in Indiana. I had been dreading this birthday (like you hadn't noticed; I wrote about my birthday anxiety in at least four different posts). Thankfully, the day came and went without much attention. Whitney was baptized on that day, and it was much easier to concentrate on her little being than my advancing age.

Of course, now we're back to life in Macon, and I have plenty of time to ruminate on my existence. It's not that I don't like birthdays, the gifts are great, believe me. I just don't like the thoughts that invariably come after the cake. Pointless questions like how did I get here, what happened to my body, and who is that person in the mirror float into my brain. I'm prone to this line of questioning regardless of the date however. Birthdays are simply a guarantee for self-recrimination. It's in my nature, what can I say.

A few years ago Craig and I took Grace swimming in the Savannah River. I remember diving into the water and feeling as though I was wearing a wetsuit. The weight I gained and never lost from childbirth seemed to weigh me down. The hormonal changes to my skin made my face burn in the water. In my mind I was a lithe twenty year old, but my body didn't match that perception. I have struggled since then to reconcile that dissonance.

I don't want to be a downer here. What I do want is to embrace who I am at this moment (and what my body looks like). Simultaneously, I want to motivate myself to do better for me. If that isn't enough motivation, I must remember that I have two beautiful girls who will measure themselves against my standards; not the standards I have for them, but the standards I have for myself. I want Grace and Julia to love their bodies and their minds as I love them. They absorb the negative attitude I have for my body. I don't want that.

So here's to thirty-five, to wrinkles and gray hair, stretch marks and cellulite. Here's to wisdom and patience, compassion and love. I still have a lot to learn.