I celebrated my 34th birthday over the weekend. And it was special for so many reasons:
I wasn't oncall this year- I was oncall on my birthdays the 2 previous years. At least now I could enjoy a nice glass of wine
I was celebrating my birthday, with my daughter in my arms and my wife by my side
We had good friends visiting us for the first time
And this was the first time I got to have my birthday dinner with my parents, in, what, the last 9 years?
A few sad truths. After my 30th birthday, these things really don't mean a whole lot. Just another number, another reminder of the inevitable? Also, you realize that while growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional.
Just ask my wife and friends who took that picture of me holding my cake in my birthday suit.
(while I was tempted to post that, I figured that would come back to haunt me. So you'll just have to use your vivid imagination, but don't blame me for the PTSD that follows)