This will probably be an ongoing post throughout the day. I am officially thirty-five years old today! Or, as I will say for the rest of my life, I am finally thirty-five years old today. Well, I won't say the thirty-five part...at least I hope I won't. I think there's something sad about lying about one's age, unless that person is fifteen and wants to get into an R-rated movie.
Tonight is also the first night of Passover. Though I would no longer consider myself Jewish, there's something about being a part of Jewry that will occasionally inspire me on holidays to take stock of where I am and from whence I came. Deyanu is a traditional Passover song; the meaning of the word itself is, "It would have been enough." As in, if this one good thing had happened to me, it would have been enough; but then, this other good thing happened, and that would have been enough; but then, this other good thing happened...you get the idea.
I'm feeling pretty blessed that this is the thought upon which I feel called to meditate on my birthday, a day that many women dread. Particularly thirty-five. Yesterday, I had a proper bra fitting with the lactation consultant at the hospital--because my girls have grown a good three cup sizes since we began this pregnancy journey seven months ago, and probably aren't done yet. As I completed the purchase of my very first nursing bra, I remarked that tomorrow would be my big 3-5. The LC moaned sympathetically and told me that it was a difficult birthday for her. It struck me as a sad moment. And a grateful one: I'm really glad this isn't hard for me, at least this year. I have so much good in my life right now: I'm healthy and happy. That would have been enough, but I finally married the guy I fell in love with seventeen years ago, who happens to be my best friend. That would have been enough, but I have a remarkably fortunate and full life with my best friend. That would have been enough, but now, we're expecting our first child in eight-ish weeks.