I’m a week late posting, however last Tuesday, November 1st was my 27th birthday. I don’t know what it is, but 27 just sounds so much older than 26. It’s like I have the sudden urge to change my radio station from the Top 40 to NPR. To fall out of the Gap and into Talbots. Turn off Glee and tune into QVC (it has to be only old people that shop off that channel, right?) Cash in that AARP card that was sent to me a few months ago – which Eric swears I received because they heard I took up knitting. Yes, I knit – I suppose I was a little grandma-like even before I turned the big 2-7.
Recently I even ran across a baby blog about how it’s time to start thinking about your will now that you have children. A will!? While I tried to tune out the idea of that daunting task, it did bring up the question: Have you ever really thought about where you would want to be buried? I brought this up to Eric because, you know, it’s really healthy to get all worked up about things in the (hopefully) really distant future. And he of course wanted no part of it. But I urgently pressed on because if I died young I would want and expect Eric to re-marry. And if he re-married wouldn’t that mean he would then be buried by his new wife? And since the only family I have here are the ones I married into, would it make sense for me to be buried in Indianapolis next to no one I know or am related to? But on the other hand since we’ll have at least one child shouldn’t I choose Indianapolis so they can easily visit me? I went back and forth in my head for awhile I tell ya. Finally I came to the conclusion that if I died young I think I would want to be cremated, that way I don’t have to be worried about spending eternity in the ground next to strangers and then my kids will always have me around (even if it’s in a jar) to talk to. So Eric, there ya go, got that ugly detail out of the way. Case closed. Whew, aren’t you glad me turning 27 brought this on? I mean this is the kind of crazy stuff that keeps me up at night!
But in all seriousness age really doesn’t bother me. In fact I’ve been looking forward to this time when I get to be a mom and “play house” for real for as long as I can remember so I know 27 is going to be a good year. I mean how can I wish to go back when I have this growing little champ to meet in a few short months?
And how can I wish to go back when a few years ago I didn’t have this guy to come home to every night that continuously makes me happy?
Yea, no regrets here. 27 years and I’ve come this far. No looking back. Happy Birthday Me!