So on Monday I began my 29th year. I feel older when I say it that way which, if I were beginning my 17th year, would suit me fine. Pushing 30 doesn't scare me. I don't feel old. In fact, I hope to remain perpetually 19, although most of my priorities have changed. In a lot of ways, 19 year old AnnaMarie would give me a real talking to, mostly regarding conformity and my lack of political involvement. Still, what is most evident to me is the way I chose to spend my birthday. My dear friends kept asking me when we were going out for drinks, how we were going to celebrate, and all that jazz. Finally, one wise person asked me, "AnnaMarie, what do YOU want to do on your birthday?" I finally admitted to them - and myself - that I didn't want to do a damn thing. And you know what? I didn't.
I left work an hour early (a direct order from my boss) and went to the grocery store to buy a gallon of milk, bubble bath, a magazine, and nail polish. I walked to Sophie's daycare with her stroller and strolled her home. I cooked my favorite meal of chicken and caramelized onions with rice and fresh Shelby County corn from the cob cooked in butter. I opened a Grolsch. I sat on the front porch for almost an hour and talked to my mom. I picked up Sophie and she nursed and went to sleep without a peep. I drew a bath. Poured in the bubble bath. Grabbed the magazine and a nail clipper. Read and gave myself a little pedicure. Got out. Put on my bath robe. Went to the living room and vegged in front of the TV and painted my toenails a very pretty shade of light pink. I never paint my nails. They always look too fancy. But I only celebrate my birthday once a year. My toes deserve to look fancy. By 10:00 I was in bed reading a great book by Kentucky author Silas House. I could've been at a bar, at a restaurant, at a club, or anywhere. But I was in bed, my baby was sleeping, and my husband was next to me. What a wonderful celebration!