My 33rd birthday is May 28th.
My mother was 33 when she had me. Growing up, she would always say that 33 was the perfect age to have kids. She felt the most ready. I'm her 4th, so that could also have something to do with it :)
As my 33rd year approached, I thought, "wow. I'm going to be a mom at 33. It was meant to be."
Now it just makes me cry to think about it. I won't be a mom at 33. I might never be a mom. I probably won't be a mom. I won't ever be pregnant. I won't ever breastfeed. I won't ever know what it's like to see yourself in a child. See the same nose, or eyes, or pass down my left handedness.
I'm throwing myself a party. A pity party. A party of one. You probably wouldn't know the hurt inside of me by looking at me, or talking to me. I'm a pretty positive, outgoing person, who likes to please others. And no one wants to talk or hang out with a crying, depressed person who is only thinking about one thing.
So, maybe for my birthday, I'll just throw myself a bigger pity party, and invite some of you to join in. Wow. That sounds like fun. Not.