My last post earned me quite a few concerned calls and emails, my favorite of which coming from my mother. 'After I washed my eyes out with soap, I decided to call you and see if you're okay,' she said. I am okay, everyone! Hormonal, but okay! I've just passed the 12 week mark, Chewy is now the size of a peach, and there are five more weeks of school. Life is good.
I'm happy lately for a million reasons, and this is a big deal for me. Feelings are not exactly my strong suit, at least the ones that come from a place not incited by Intervention. I cried my eyes out over Lost last week ('I'll never leave you.' Jin, you kill me!), but when it comes to actual real-life feelings I get annoyed very easily. I tend to be an all-business kind of woman in her thirties, and this has only gotten worse in my old age. Recently, I turned to K and said, 'Feelings? I don't have any feelings!' And the worst thing was that she knew exactly what I was talking about.
I woke up on Saturday morning suddenly thirty two, and I'm not going to lie: I was apprehensive about it. It wasn't that I cared about getting another year older... not exactly. It was more the combination of living in (another) new place, having family and friends scattered all over the world, and the knowledge that another year has passed and I still have not been selected for Oprah's book club. The birthday blues can strike even the most desensitized woman in her thirties.
But then the day was upon me, and it was like a shower of good feelings. Feelings that felt... really good. L made me feel like I had lots of friends, and those friends are going to think I'm the hottest Mom to ever walk the streets of Pleasantville. My family made me feel like they were right here with me, especially my Momma . My jie jie (of Fox News fame) made me feel like someone is always listening to me, even as long as six months ago. And my girls made me feel like the greatest writer, cook, and soon-to-be mother on the planet. Feelings? I do have feelings! They were hiding under 32 years of sarcasm and self-deprecation, but they're there. Leave it to the people I love to bring them out of hiding.
This week, despite not being able to zip up the last pair of my pants, despite dealing with 60 high school seniors with some of the most acute cases of Senioritis I've ever experienced, and despite 50 degree temperatures and rain, I've got a million things to be thankful for. A woman in her thirties counts them all. She starts from the beginning and goes until this very moment, and in that way she is always counting herself blessed.