Birthdays have never really bothered me (probably because I'm the youngest of three, and I see my brother and sister getting older before me.) Anyway, here it is: 35. It happened, and it kind of surprised me. I've been so busy going to high school, college, vet school, getting married, having babies, raising kids, building a practice . . . you know, life moves fast. The last thing I remember was a big snow storm on my golden birthday (#16) and the front office of my high school *PACKED* with balloons, stuffed animals, candy and flowers (they changed the rule the next year: gifts were not allowed to be delivered to school. I can only imagine it was because on that day my gifts made office work a little difficult. The gifts in the office on that day were more than a little bit ridiculous.) I don't know how I got from there to here, but here we are.
I never liked Valentine's day or my birthday until Eva and Cawood came. Now I love them both, because I don't just have two dates entwined together in my mind, I have three: The 14th, 16th and 20th. The 20th is a GREAT day, so that makes the other two great as well.
I told DJ at lunch today that my gift to myself is going to be running. I love to run, but I've just never given myself permission to take that 30-45 minutes away from the family three or four nights every week to go run. The kids have been little, and they needed so much, but you know what? Those twins are coming up fast on three, and they are fully able to express their needs. There is no reason DJ can't watch them so I can run. Right? Right? Chances are they'll just go upstairs and play anyway. It's not like last year when they were on my hip at all times. Now they have things to do, games to play. I feel like that's a horribly selfish thing to do: leave the family for any want of my own (let's face it, running is a *want* and not a *need.*)
But then I circle back and think: I don't like leaving these kids for any reason. I don't want to miss a single minute with them that is available to me. . . and I think about running and how Faith asked me one time last summer when I went for one of my rare runs, "Why are you running from us?" Ahhh. . . what's a mom to do?
So I'm 35 now. I want to run, but I do not want to miss a single second of time with those kids. I'll be 40 and then 50 before I know it and I'll wish I had exercised more, because I've always loved it. I love the kids more, so technically that should answer that question, but it does not. When I am 100, am I going to wish I had taken better care of myself, or am I going to wish I had spent every waking moment with my children when they were young? Children who, by the way, were very difficult to convince God to give me in the first place, so I darn well better appreciate them. Dilemma.
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