
04/07/2025
43.
✨
A quiet birthday this year. A very tender, quiet day full of tender, small things. Texts and voice messages exchanged with the dearest of friends. FaceTime with my precious baby nephew. My eldest child away for the week, sending me heartfelt messages from interstate about how impossibly ancient I am. (“Don’t look a day over 350,” he says. Sweet talker.) And my other two babies filling my day with sweetness.
I am bone tired. All of my feelings are right here, just beneath the surface of my skin. I feel like water running over stone, thin and transparent and insubstantial. Life has taken turn after unthinkable turn and I am just barely here. But today my incredibly brave daughter wrote her love for me in a letter that I will treasure forever, reminding me that my courage isn’t only for me - she’s watching and learning, especially when I don’t know it. And my youngest daughter lent me her unflagging joy and the tenderness of her big caring heart from the moment she woke until the moment her head hit the pillow tonight. And we ate Woolies cupcakes straight from the tray and let the single candle burn too long and panicked about smoke alarms that didn’t go off and played card games and sang in the car and fell asleep cuddling. It was fragile and ordinary and perfect.
43 slipped in under the radar, quiet amidst the madness that is 2025. Quiet like the turning of a page.