32 seems like one of those birthdays where it’s just a birthday, you know? It’s not 30. It’s not 35 when you can run for president. It’s not 33, which I’ve always considered significant because that’s how old Jesus was when he died and that’s when my Mom said her metabolism slowed down. Damn. One more year. I better go get  a snack now.

Breakfast the morning of my birthday!

But, when I turned 32 on Saturday I did think of it as significant. 32 is the age I’ll be when I become a mother for the second time. That’s pretty awesome. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 32.

“32”, my silly, incomplete and half-assed version of Taylor Swift’s “22”

It feels like a perfect night to dress up like preppies

And make a run to Target, uh uh, uh uh.

It feels like a perfect night for feedings at midnight

To fall in love with babies, uh uh, uh.

Yeah

We’re happy, sad, messy and busy at the same time

It’s miserable and magical.

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night when we forget about the deadlines.

Its time.

Uh oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 32

Everything will be alright

If you keep me next to you.

You don’t know about me

But I’ll bet you want to

Everything will be alright

If we just keep living like we’re

32, ooh-ooh
32, ooh-ooh

It seems like one of those days,

This playdate’s too crowded.

Too many brat kids, uh uh, uh uh

It seems like one of those days,

We ditch the diaper and end up training

Instead of wiping.

I share an office at work with two girls ages 22 and 24. I love it. They are wonderfully sweet and kind, like all my coworkers. They are very hard working women and are learning so much. I joke with them that my pregnancy symptoms are catching whenever they talk about “craving” a food or “feeling tired.” They are more than kind when I am carrying a bunch of stuff or complain of being hot in the office. They look out for the pregnant woman.

Most of the time I don’t even think about how I am 8 to 10 years older than they are. You know how it is when you get to be an adult, you don’t even notice age difference that much anymore. That is, unless you and your fellow 30-something friends are PSYCHED about the New Kids on the Block/Boys II Men concert and they look at you like you have five heads.

Leaving them on Friday after a discussion made me all reflective about life. Ashley is 22 and just finished college. I love hearing about her leaving her sorority sisters and starting a career. I know that unsure, exhilarating feeling. I was so focused on making it in my chosen profession while learning what it meant to be an adult. There is no other time like it.

I realized this May that I graduated college ten years ago. Ten years! I’ll be 32 next month. Sometimes the last ten years feels like an instant. Sometimes age 22 feels like a lifetime ago. I was telling Ashely how I wouldn’t go back to being 22, that 32 was better.  No, I wouldn’t go back. I love my life now. I have so much more than I ever thought I would. My husband, my family, our house and my career. In the last ten years I married my husband, accomplished my life dream of being a television news reporter and started my family.

Senior year sorority formal, just before graduation in 2003. I was still 21.

No, I wouldn’t go back, but I wouldn’t trade being 22 for anything in the world. I’m starting to think that even though my bank account was always overdrawn, I got too much sun exposure and drank too many cosmopolitans, 22 may be the smartest I ever was.

It was age 22 that I met the sports anchor at the news station and allowed myself to fall unabashedly in love and dive into a life with a man because I just felt like it was right. I knew that we were meant to be together. I didn’t give a second thought to the fact that we had only known each other 7 months when he asked me to be his wife. I instantly said yes.

2004. We were engaged. I think I was 22 or 23.

I was telling Ashley how hard it was starting my career in news and being the youngest person in a newsroom with older, hardened and seasoned professionals. I frequently kept 1 Timothy 4:12 in my head. “Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity.”

Even though my focus has changed and I have typical 30-something worries about toddler TV-time and a mortgage, my early 20’s will forever be precious in my mind. Those were the times that I made all the decisions that led me to the happiness I have now. Ashley and Kelsie serve as that daily reminder for me and they are a blessing.

Kathleen, Ashley and Kelsie. We are in good hands if they are the future of PR and communications.

This was the year that I fell in love with Valentine’s Day.  That’s me circa 1989 in my 3rd grade yearbook.  Well, I guess it would have been 1990 by February.  Don’t hate on my awesomeness.  I couldn’t help it that I was so cool.  I mean, I  just had my ears pierced.  Thankfully I grew into those teeth.

My classmates and I stapled together two paper plates and taped them to the front of our desks to make little mailboxes.  I thought mine turned out pretty good with my name in marker and pink and red hearts.  To the envy of my girlfriends I added an extra flair with polka-dots.

The rule was you had to bring a valentine for everyone in the class.  We counted up our little cards.  Many had the smiling faces of Scooby Doo or Ghostbusters.  The kid with the lollipops attached to his cards got extra kudos from the 3rd grade crowd.  My friend Erica brought the house down with New Kids On The Block valentines.  I mean, they had a song called “Valentine Girl.”  It was only fitting.

I found an extra card between my paper plates.  I was delighted to open a Garfield valentine.  When I turned it over my stomach did this flutter thing I hadn’t felt before.  The card wasn’t signed.  It had nothing but a heart drawn in pencil with an arrow through it.  There were a few eraser marks, as if someone had taken great care drawing it.  I double checked the name on the envelope.  Yep, it was my name.

I looked around before asking my teacher, Miss Crabtree, to find out who was the admirer with the Garfield valentines.  When Miss Crabree held up my card and asked who gave them out, Josh looked sheepish and said, “I did.”  He caught my eye and we smiled.  I looked away and my stomach did that thing again.

Josh was the cutest boy in the class and he sent ME a secret admirer valentine.  My little life at that moment was complete.  Little did I know, that card would start an on and off again elementary school love affair that would continue for the rest of third grade.

I got that same flutter when my husband gave me a Godiva satin heart on Valentine’s Day 2004 when we were dating.  He promised to fill it up with truffles every year for the rest of our lives.

I made these valentines for Charlotte’s class celebration this week.  This is the first Valentine’s exchange she has ever done.  I hope the start of this little tradition in her childhood one day leads to paper plate mailboxes and pencil-drawn hearts from admirers.

This is a collection of some of Charlotte’s newest things:

Do you see a theme?  Well played Disney marketers, well played.  Good job getting your characters on everything from the cup my kid drinks from to the training pants on her little hiney.  Disney has an even further reach than the toddler department.  I’m interested to see what’s next.  I’m not picking on Disney, exclusively.  Sesame Street seems to have their hands on preschool merchandise as well.  You should see all the Elmo stuff in our house.  The thing that has been sticking  out to me lately is PRINCESS.

She loves those snow boots.  I’m a good little suburbanite mommy so we searched the aisles of Target for the perfect pair.  I gave her the choice of all the boots on the shelf and she said “Pincess!”  We went to a 3-year-old girl’s party this weekend.  Princess theme.

Hmm.  I’m not sure how I feel about all this.  I’ve read the criticism of the whole princess industry and how it’s making our daughters image obsessed, subservient prince-seekers who will end up on the pole if we let them watch The Little Mermaid.  I’m worried I’ll have to start dressing like Pam on “The Office.”  She was “Dr. Cinderella” for Halloween to show her daughter positive princess role models.

Courtesy: NBC

I love princess stuff.  Love it.  I can try to deny it, but I’m a pink, glittery girl-girl at heart and always have been.  We watched “Tangled” this weekend because I LOVE THAT MOVIE!  Of course Charlotte loved it too.  I find the more recent princess movies have much stronger, more confident female leads then classics like “Snow White” and “Cinderella.”  I think they send better messages.

I took a class in college called Gender and Media Culture and it ruined every story for me, ever.  This is the class where we had to watch “The Accused” and “Boys Don’t Cry.”  We got to analyze the rape scenes and discuss how the Cinderella Syndrome is a worldwide epidemic, forever infecting women’s psyches.  Apparently all the princess fairy tales of our youth are the reason women end up contestants on “The Bachelor” because the only thing they’ve ever been told is that they have to find a man to be happy.  Oh, did you know that EVERYTHING is a metaphor for deflowering a virgin girl?  I didn’t either until I took this class.

So, you see my dilemma.  I decided to take it easy and just go with it.  She’s just a little girl and princesses are just a part of that.  If I make a big deal about it, it becomes a big deal.

She got that “Tangled” book pictured above with a little hair clip of Rapunzel’s hair.  I showed her how it lit up and you put it in your hair.  I was never more proud of her after what she did next.  She didn’t want it in her hair.  She took it and made it a stethoscope.  She “listened” to our hearts before making it the thing doctors use to look in your ears.  Then she said, “I doctor!”

I don’t think I’ll need to dress like Dr. Cinderella after all.  My little princess is already practicing medicine.

We’ve had a lot of changes in toddlerland lately.  It’s full-tilt potty training madness.  She’s doing pretty well.  If we’re consistent, she’s consistent with Number One.  Number Two, eh.  It’s taken a back seat.

In other news, the same child who has taken a pacifier all her life outside the womb and affectionately calls it her “num-num” has been paci-less for about four days.  I couldn’t find it the other night.  We went out to the car to look for it.  We searched the playroom and her room.  No luck.  I looked at my sleepy tot  in her pajamas, sighed and said, “Charlotte, your num-num went bye-bye.”  She pondered this a moment and replied, “My num-num went bye-bye.”  That was it.  She spotted a rogue binky under the furniture today, but forgot about it when suddenly Thomas the Tank Engine did something on television that was worthy of her attention.  Thank you preschool programming!

I think this is the last paci pic I snapped.

As if these weren’t enough big girl achievements, she’s out of baby jail!  That’s right!  Our girl is sleeping in a toddler bed now.  When we finally decided on this furniture we got her crib as a conversion bed.  We wrongly assumed this included safety rails.  Whoops.  We figured she only has about eight inches to fall and has not fallen out of bed yet.  Parents of the year.

Baby monitor shot.

The funny thing about all these changes is I constantly oscillate between feelings of overwhelming pride and weepy nostalgia.  

There are many moments in the day when  I’m so proud of my big girl!  I love seeing all her 2-year-old accomplishments.  This may be the mama bear talking, but Charlotte is a smart one.  She’s getting so independent.  She is brave and fun.  Everyday she says a new sentence, sings a new song, or tries something on her own.  It’s amazing!

There are other moments when I want to run after her screaming, “No!  Wait!  You’re still a baby!  Stop growing  up so fast!”  After praising her for successfully using the potty, I suddenly want to change her diaper and give her a pacifier.  Instead of tucking her in her big kid bed I want to swaddle her up and rock her to sleep.

The only thing I can do is think of all the exciting things to come in her childhood and take in every moment of this transition.  If there is anything I’ve learned since becoming a parent, it’s that it’s all fleeting.