35 and a new baby

That title is so deceiving! I'll be 35 on Monday, so that's got me in a bit of a head space. And I brought dinner to my friend and colleague who had her baby a week ago, so that has me all thoughtful and sentimental as well. And I haven't been able to take a decent shot of Elie in weeks, so I don't have a new pic and feel sort of like a loser even blogging because my feelings are muddled and sleepy and confused. Some pieces...

35 feels really old. I can't even stand the way it looks on the page. I hate it. It's the number of warning in all the pregnancy books. Everything seems to change after 35.

But things are just getting warmed up for me over here.

I've always gone big on birthdays. My mom asked me today what my favorite holiday was. I didn't know. I said Halloween by default. But giving it more thought, I'm pretty certain that my favorite holiday is my birthday. I love that it comes in March. It's such a random month for a birthday. I love that it happens in spring. I've always had fabulous parties and done really sweet, sentimental things for my birthday. I also try my darndest to be the best little birthday fairy I can be to those I love when it's their special day.

But my powers at birthday fairy-dom seem to be dwindling and for the first time in a while, I have zero excitement about planning how to celebrate my big day.

And then I went to visit baby Sebastian. And the whole notion of age seemed irrelevant - the notion to focus on, instead, is time. In an instant was brought back to the quiet intensity that is the first days with a new baby. I remembered that unknowing. That amazement. That focus. That fear. The helpless, relentless little wail of a newborn. The gentle passing of the baby back and forth between husband and wife as if someone might actually have some magic recipe, some secret that will make the baby quiet and content again.

I didn't stay long. I didn't ask to hold the baby. He had a pretty traumatic entry into the world and spent the first four days out in the world in the NICU. He's had more serious medical tests in his first week of life than I have in my 35 years. But my eyes were filled with tears the entire time I was there. I was so very glad to hug my friend. She has been in my thoughts so much, our children at work so affected by her absence, our curriculum and plans suddenly off course. I wanted to see him in her arms, wanted to only know for sure that he was beautiful and fine. I will be so happy to share with my little friends at school tomorrow the news that baby Sebastian is, indeed, perfect.

So, for whatever reason, when I drove home tonight I felt a bit better about aging. Maybe it's because I know that I am becoming a tougher, lovelier person in my old age. That even with the lines and the grays, my core is centered and blessed and present. That time never stops and birth and age and risk and potential are all just pieces of this hugeness we're all wrapped in.

The opening line of a poem a student of mine wrote today is, "I am a soft and cozy blanket." I'll take that line, but add, "I am a soft and cozy blanket, sturdy and worn, comfortable in my skin. I have an edge of silver fringe that shines in the right light. My thread is strong and delicate and uniquely beautiful."