It’s My Birthday, And I Want To Be An Orangutan Mama

Age is relative in that we never feel all that different from the way we did years ago. We’re older, wiser, but still us-us. Sometimes, we catch a glimpse of ourselves in a car window and don’t recognize the face reflected. We wonder who we are, but when we lean in super-close to the mirror in the bathroom, our eyes look the same, once we look past more foldy eyelids. We’re not sure exactly when they became foldy.

In our minds, we’re still a seven-year-old who’s special because it’s her birthday, even as we see our wrinkles, and draw on our own kids’ napkins.

It’s My Birthday, And I Want To Be An Orangutan Mama

Today’s my birthday. Not a big milestone one, but really, does the lack of a zero or five on the end of the first number mean it’s not a milestone? Each year could be our last, and all that.

I remember turning 30 and other ages, and being upset or pleased about it. 30 felt like the age when I should’ve had it all figured out, and definitely didn’t have much figured out.

If somebody’d told me 40 and 50 would be easier, I’d never have believed them, but the fact is, 40 and 50 were easier. Maybe because I don’t feel much different from being 31.

The rearview mirror of our lives is funny that way. 

Past ages may appear closer than they are. The 80’s may feel like a decade ago, when in fact, they were, um, a lot of decades ago. 

Often, I forget my age because I have a newly 10-year-old. I attend Back To School Night with other moms of 10-year-olds, and don’t feel much different from them. We’re all here to learn about fifth grade. To attend Volunteer Orientation. I look around, scanning the faces of moms in the room, and wonder who may become a friend. 

I wish age didn’t have anything to do with becoming friends. Some of my best friends are celebrating decades different from mine, and it doesn’t matter. It seems to matter at school though, for some reason.

It’s My Birthday, And I Want To Be An Orangutan Mama

It’s my birthday today. My husband’s out of town, and Tucker’s school is off for testing days. I worked a little this morning, and then we went to lunch and headed to the zoo. Tucker knows Cheyenne Mountain Zoo well after his week-long camp there, and was my birthday tour director.

First, we fed the giraffes. The admissions guy gave us two free feedings because he saw my military ID and noticed it was my birthday. 

“Any day you see a giraffe is a good day,” a good friend texted. She’s right.

We wandered, ate ice cream at one point, and saw the baby monkeys, and the old ones. The majestic gorillas, and lions.

And then, the orangutans. There’s a new mama with her baby. 

Look at her. 

Does she worry about what ages the other mamas who have babies are? Nope. At least, it doesn’t seem so. Tucker and I transcended time, too. His arm around my neck, asking if he used to be that small. 

Me, remembering. Remembering when he was that small and my age didn’t matter. I was a new mom, and had a baby to feed, to raise, to love. 

The baby’s looking at us like “WHAT?” and I’m pretty sure the mama orangutan has no idea how old she is. She’s holding her baby, being a mama.

She’s why I want to be an orangutan. Except, not really, of course, because I’ve gotten pretty used to being a human, and don’t want to give my human stuff up.

Instead, tonight, after a non-milestone-birthday, while knowing each birthday is a milestone, I’ll sit on the couch with my not-a-baby, and talk about how cute the orangutans were, and how cute we are, a little bit, too. It’s my birthday after all, and I can be cute-ish if I want to. At least on the inside, where it counts.

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, with my lovely friend Mardra’s photo prompt of “hindsight,” and the photo below.