At 3:02 this morning

in 1981, fireworks were going off. Reporters were lined up around the block. Radios and TV's broadcasted the news….that just hours earlier, Charles and Diana were married.

Oh yeah, and I was born.

I’m pretty sure my birthday will always have the royal wedding mixed in. Especially since my mom really wanted to watch the wedding and prayed I wouldn’t come until after.

Like a good daughter, I listened to you and obeyed.

32. What an odd number.

When Wendy commented to me that she’ll be 32 in August, my first thought was, she’s old. {sorry Wendy} ..but then I realized that that’s my age! I’m 32. How can that be? I feel like I can’t be a 32 year old. I’m not mature enough. So many things about me don’t feel 32.

I can’t explain it, only, I know people who are older than me totally and completely understand what I’m saying, because they feel it too..and for longer. Something I couldn’t comprehend in my 20’s.

Just last night I laughed out loud over someone admitting to peeing in a pool..on Instagram. And shocked awake a friend who wanted to stay up till 12 with an inappropriate “prison story”.

You think of how a 32 year old should act. You think by this age, they generally are settled down, with a kid or two, full of responsibilities and then you look at me and its laughable. In mostly the good way.

I get to spend my birthday with my mom, who’s going to make me these for my birthday dinner and I can’t wait. She’s a pretty special woman, and I’m looking forward to an evening of crazy celebration with her.

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