30 is the New...30, Actually.

Today is my birthday.

I've wanted to be 30 since I was about 16. Even as a teenage, I found most other teenagers silly and immature. The irony that I now work with teenagers is not lost on me.

As I approached this milestone of a birthday, I've heard that 30 is the new 20 a few times. I suppose it's meant to be a consolation. Don't worry - 30 is actually young now! As if I've cried into my pillow every night, rendering my night cream ineffective.

I had read somewhere (I'm a diligent researcher) that the most common cause of death at 30 is accident. This makes me assume that before 30 it's on purpose and after 30 it's some sort of disease, arteries clogged with grease, or a diabetic coma, or both in the case of Burger King's hot fudge sundae with bacon.

I would be most likely to get my hand caught in the washing machine or slip on a newly mopped floor. Life on the edge. (I don't mop often. Safety first.)

As it were, today is also Noah's first birthday. People smile and gush "How wonderful to share your birthday!" Someone even informed me it's better this way, as birthdays don't mean much as you get older.

Um, he stole my thunder.

I still like cake and presents.

He's just sitting here, laughing his baby laugh and hogging all the birthday glory. When he's sixteen, the tables will be turned and I will enjoy sharing my birthday (as I've heard grace comes with age) and he was be all bitter, having heard every year that I spent my 29th birthday having contractions and wiping meconium from his hair.

It's the supposed loss of our youth that makes turning 30 so grim for many people. Society would have you believe that the 20's are filled with happy drunkenness and sunning our thin bodies on tropical beaches - carcinogens be darned!  The 30's are a slow march towards nursing homes, and the health of our 401k is paramount, when we're not calculating how much fiber we're consuming.

I'm pretty happy to be 30 and am almost certain this next decade will be pretty good. I didn't rush to the mirror this morning to see if any new wrinkles appeared - as a matter of fact, I rarely rush and never to the mirror. There was no crying into my vodka-gin-tonic last night, I was too busy living. 

Perhaps panic will set in at some point in my life - 40? 50? Perhaps not though. If I do it right, I'll live my life with purpose, with conviction. And at the end I won't pine for the loss of mini skirts and smoky nights at loud, awkward clubs but that I don't have more days to give to the Giver of all days.

This birthday I am thinking about sacrifice. Not on the altar of youth but for those around me. To love when it costs me something. To walk beside my children when they need me, not when it's convenient. To adopt a child when it's so difficult and so costly. To befriend people when the risk of rejection is so great. To notice a hurting teen instead of my highlights growing out. To love my husband fully and deeply when everything in me screams "Me first!"

Inhale, hold, let it out in a rush. And my wish goes up with the smoke.