Two days ago my grandmother turned 92 years old. Ninety-two. Or as a certain Dancing With the Stars football player would say - Nueve Dos. That's old. And my mom recently turned 69. That's kinda old (damn near 70).
Why do I bring this up? Because in 52 days I will be turning 35 and am having mini-freakouts regularly.
Sorry to disappoint if you thought this was going to be an entry about my fabulous grandmother. This is MY blog, let her get her own :)
So back to me - 35 just sounds old and it's about to be the number that describes me. Doesn't sound as old as 92, but it still sounds old. As you can tell, I haven't quite embraced it yet. Accepted it? Absolutely - don't really have a choice. Embraced? Not so much. And as I reflect, I can honestly say it has nothing to do with my being single or without children. It's about OLD. I can get married or get pregnant, but I can't not get old. Bummer.
Oh well. I'm going to party anyway; because if you know me you know how much I LOVE my birthday. And hopefully, in the midst of the party, me and 35 will become friends. Or at least friendly acquaintances.