Today is my 32nd birthday. Earlier this month, when I realized that my birthday would be falling on a Friday and that I’d have the day off, I was pleased. After all, going to work on your birthday is about as pleasurable as eating saltines for dessert. But now, at home alone, bereft of my co-workers’ companionship and staring down a mounting heap of consulting work, it’s a little depressing. I was sitting on our 3-season veranda, re-working some legacy Quark files when the leaves on the trees suddenly began to murmur with the sounds of a fresh light rain. Rain on my birthday? But, it never rains on my birthday!
Mr. P gave me my present this morning: Earrings, white gold and diamonds, small delicate hoops, elegant and understated. I hugged him and kissed him, very much gratified after last year’s present of nothing (he took my protestations of “I don’t need anything for my birthday” seriously, which will never happen again). Tomorrow is his birthday, so I lap up the spotlight while I can, for there will be no carry-over specialness. But I like that we have adjacent birthdays. We share them, like we share everything.
32. People who are older than me tell me “32 is young! You’re young!” But I am wise enough not to tell them, “You’re only saying that because you’re old!” The biological clock is ticking. Oh, it’s ticking. 32 is the age that a woman’s fertility begins its rapid decline, and each passing month sounds a new alarm. I eye mothers on the street and on the subway, and they all look younger than me. What have I done? Why did I wait? Biologically, 32 is way past prime.
The house needed cleaning, but I ignored it and went to yoga. Ommmm… I read the New York Times. I listened to French podcasts. I answered emails and phone calls. I ate hummus and tapioca pudding for lunch, and then wayyy too many Kinder sweets brought home from Germany. One of my loser stocks jumped 12% for seemingly no reason so I sold 200 shares and felt relief, then regret, and then nothing.
I wanted to hug my mother and father, and thank them for giving me life.
I studied my face in the mirror as I got ready to go out for dinner. It’s an older face, but no, it’s not old. I can still see a plumpness in my cheeks, a gleam in my eye, and a girlish pleasure in my smile. I can see who I was yesterday. I can see who I’ll be tomorrow.
