On 35

I think I dreaded this birthday for so long that when it finally came it was a bit of a relief. Mentally, I turned 35 around Memorial Day, which is a big lesson to me about being anxious, as I wasted some good months of being 34.

This birthday, though, was much better than last year simply because people remembered. I received cards and, thanks to Facebook, several simple messages wishing me a Happy Birthday from those friends who would otherwise not have known. So I discovered those social networking sites are good for something other than Superpoke and dubious offers of friendship from strangers in Eastern Europe.

On Friday evening I celebrated by having my two best friends spend the night. When I was younger, I used to always celebrate my birthday with a sleepover or slumber party, and I discovered the appeal is still there. Granted, we had to work around a 5-month-old and the presence of the Pack-n-Play in the bedroom stifled some late-night whispering, but you’re never too little to begin learning the ins and outs of slumber party etiquette and Baby Maddie did just fine.

And I think 35 showed me, once again, just how incredibly valuable true friendships are. It doesn’t always come easily. We have to fight for the time we have together now.

But to be able to put down the phone after I have rambled and discoursed and picked apart and revealed my uttermost neurosis to my friend and sigh with relief, “She gets me” – that’s worth every year it took to get here.