Today is Lizzie’s third birthday. Three years ago today I was in a hospital watching her come into this world with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and not breathing. I remember that I didn’t breathe until she did. It gives me a headache when I think about the lack of oxygen I was taking. I never really had believed my dad as he always would tell me about how, when I was born, the same thing happened. He had held his breath until they got the cord off my neck and I was able to cry out for the first time. I think it’s interesting that I had completely forgotten about this anecdote of my dad’s during Lizzie’s birth.
Yes, I’m sure for Mary, giving birth was a difficult thing. Of course, I’m still not sure I have all the feeling back in my fingers from three years ago when I was certain she was going to squeeze my fingers off my hands. But today, we are blessed with the cutest 3-year old girl and a just as cute, almost 3-month old boy.
Lizzie getting older makes me feel so old. Sure, I’m only going to be 28 this year. But really, 10 years ago this was such an old age. Yeah, 10 years ago, my sister was (I’m afraid I cannot mention the number for fear of death or dismemberment) and I never viewed her as old (and still don’t, for that matter). I just feel that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to stop time. I can’t stop Lizzie from turning three. I can’t stop James from gaining an ounce or two (or more since he eats like a pig). And I most certainly can’t stop the ridiculous strands of hair from falling off my head. But you know what, when I look back at how old I’m getting, I realize, I love my life. Not matter how old I get, I’ve had a wonderful life. So no matter what the answer to the question posed by the title of the post is, it doesn’t matter as long as I’ve led a life I’m proud of. And I am.
Filed under: Family |