35

I know women typically like to keep their ages under wraps, but not me. I turn 35 years old tomorrow. I know some of you are scoffing incredulously and chuckling that I'm still a babe, but you have absolutely no idea how old I feel; how much the stress that I've been under has worn away at my body.

My birthday has the distinction of being not only the last 'holiday' before the one-year anniversary of Logan's passing, but it's also the 11-month marker. On top of that, it's the one that officially plunks me down into 'Advanced Maternal Age' territory. All painful flashes of reality.

Logan spent both my 33rd and 34th birthdays hospitalized, so I never had the chance to be with my entire family on my special day. Not once. That's an icy cold truth, and one that hadn't dawned on me until now: I will never once get to spend a birthday with my entire family.

Despite that, I'm hoping that somehow, in some way, God will allow me to 'hear' from Logan tomorrow. I have no idea how it would ever happen, but I long for it. I'd love to hear his chirpy voice or dance with him in my dreams. I'm just hoping for... something.