Tomorrow

It's 11:01 on the night of June 26. This is my last hour being thirty-nine, my last hour before I turn forty.

It's weird.

I fully recognize that in the grand scheme of things forty is not a big number. But it feels kind of big. Several times today Sophie has commented on my impending birthday including the gem, "Tomorrow you'll be old!"

I've been reflecting about the changes that have happened during the last ten years. When I turned thirty I was expecting Phoebe, so I've had three additional children in my thirties. We went through the MBA adventure and zigzagged our way across the country as we moved and moved and moved and moved and moved and moved and moved. I made some very dear friends in the last ten years. I've read hundreds of books. I've made blankets. I've cooked more meals from scratch than I thought possible. I've gone through life-changing trials. But I've learned and grown and been refined by those trials.

When I turned thirty I wrote about my tenth and twentieth birthdays and I pondered about how I would spend my fortieth birthday. Never would I have guessed that I would turn forty in the middle of a global pandemic and a national racism awakening. Tomorrow there will be no parties or gatherings with friends. Bryan and I won't go out to dinner or a movie to celebrate. I'll sleep in and exercise and open gifts, many of which the kids covertly created and wrapped today. I'll (probably) gets texts and Facebook messages wishing me happy birthday and maybe even a call or two. I'll eat watermelon and sugar-free cake and snuggle with these six people that I love so very much.

What do the next ten years hold? The world is still upside-down, so I have no idea. I'd like us to buy a house at some point. Peter starts high school in the fall, though I don't know what that will look like. I'd like to send kids on missions and to college. I'd like to really learn to play the piano and the ukulele and the guitar. I'd like to work toward a Master's degree and maybe figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I'd like to be healthy and have energy to keep up with these kids as they grow.

It's 11:40 on the night of June 26. This is my last twenty minutes being thirty-nine, my last twenty minutes before I turn forty.

It's going to be fine.