Coincidentally, as of yesterday, 33 is also the number of years I have now been alive. I celebrated my birthday by cheating on bedrest and going out to see Dre@mg!rls (very entertaining, I highly recommend it) with my husband. I figured it was no more strenuous than going out to dinner, which I've done a couple of times, or to work, which I am allowed to do once a week. We took a cab there and back, and the old ute behaved pretty well during the movie, but I paid for it when I got home with a major contract-o-rama: every five minutes for an hour, then every 10 minutes for another hour, then every five minutes again, then finally settling down to the usual 15-20 minute intervals after three hours on the couch. I know I've been playing with fire--I have stern instructions to call the doctor if I have 5 or more contractions an hour for two hours--but things always seem to calm down eventually. I just hope that I don't get so casual about it that I don't realize when I'm actually going into labor.
Anyway, the rest of my birthday was spent guzzling water to help the contractions settle down, dozing off in front of the D!sc0very Ch@nnel, and eating takeout Indian food, as well as fielding birthday phone calls from a few well-meaning friends who seem to have not quite absorbed the meaning of bedrest: "Are you doing anything exciting for your birthday?" But truly, I wouldn't have had it any other way.
You'd think that with my birthday falling right before New Year's, I'd be all about the resolutions--new year for me as well as the calendar and all that. But I've always sucked at making resolutions and taking stock. As I look ahead to 2007, my 34th year, all I can hope for is a healthy baby and the strength to be the best mother I can be. (Yes, it's starting to sink in: I'm going to be a mother.) That's quite enough, I think.
Happy new year to all of you. May 2007 bring you everything you're dreaming of.