Nakita Grinie

32

Today I am 32 years old.

Wow. I can't decide if I feel much older or much younger than this number, but thirty two just doesn't seem right to me. I have officially reached the age when I draw a blank when someone asks me how old I am. My initial reaction is to always say '29' but obviously my brain hasn't registered the fact that years are passing by at record speeds. Maybe I'm in denial, clinging to my twenties. Maybe mommy brain is to blame. After all, when I was actually turning 29 years old I had just become a mother. I remember that birthday well; Truman was smiling at me in his tie onesie outfit. Ah, maternity leave. You were so amazing, as was his chub.



Then there was the big 3-0, otherwise known as the miscarriage birthday--when we found out the worst news possible the day before my day. Can't forget that one. Compared to last year when I turned 31 and was about thirty-five weeks pregnant with Cecelia and we had just moved into our new house? What a difference a year makes. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one....and here we are at thirty-two.

My motherhood years are a blur of sleepless nights, nap schedules, milestones, and moments of such intense happiness that all of the lows melt away in retrospect. I wouldn't trade these childbearing and little kid years for anything even though they haven't always been easy. Was there ever a time I wasn't their mom? I guess so. But I honestly don't remember much about that life. I think I've learned more about myself and my values in the past three years more than any of the others combined.





And then there is my role as a wife as we approach our sixth anniversary next month, together for nearly eleven (!) years. Hasn't Nate been the one celebrating my birthday with me every year that I can remember? Saying, 'Happy Birthday, baby!' as soon as I open my eyes on my day? I guess there was a time before he was my guy, but again...I barely recall any birthday wishes without him as the leader.



V.day 2009


Thirty two. It seems so old and yet so young. I like being in my thirties for the most part, aside from the occasional gray hair that sneaks up on me. I don't have it all figured out, like my 18 year old self assumed I would at this age. But I'm content and blessed beyond belief. I'm happy and healthy. I have the life I hoped to have when I was younger and I'm grateful for every year that passes in a blink.

If only I could hold onto this mature, serene viewpoint the next time I totally lose my cool with the ones I love the most. Even my worst days are still pretty good when I step back from the emotional roller coaster a bit to reflect. Perhaps my goal for year thirty two is to chill out and enjoy the ride even more than I already do. Stress and worry less, be more zen. Maybe then the years will stop blowing past me and I will remember my own age.

Or maybe not. But either way life is pretty good at thirty two, even if I think I'm still twenty nine. And these two still think I'm young and hip so it must be true.












Bring it on, thirty two.