Today at 4:58PM I will officially be 32 years old.

The idea of my 32nd birthday has always given me the heebie jeebies because my mom was 32 when she had me. When I learned that fact, 32 became the age — the age you become an adult and make babies and do yard work on the weekends for fun. I have avoided turning 32…until now.

It turns out there is something to my theory about 32. I read a story titled, “32 — the age at which we turn in to our parents.” Granted, it is based on very un-scientific research via a poll on some super British website called Netmums…but still. It’s on the Internet and that makes it true.

I also read about this 32-year-old woman who went to sleep and woke up thinking she was 15 again. It sounds like a bad romantic comedy, but this is for real. She had stress-triggered dissociative amnesia and didn’t recognize her kid, her lower voice, and the crazy ass technology in her house. At first I thought I’d want to this to happen to me, but then I realized being 15 again would be awful. The crap I worried about when I was 15 was so stupid, I didn’t know how to drive yet, and no one had told me about how great hair straighteners could be.

did discover Britney Spears when I was 15 though…so there’s that.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’ll give 32 a fair shot. I’m not doing any yard work, though. And if I have to push a baby out, I’m going to be really mad.

One thought on “32

  1. Hi Mary

    Excellent writing! Very conversational, sounds like you’re right here with me Gave me lots of smiles!!

    Love, Susan

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