The 38th Year

Today Chris is 38. It's hard to imagine for me. I still see us young tykes instead of thirty somethings quickly advancing into middle age.

We celebrated his birthday with an adult dinner out at, of course, a steak house. (To Chris, steak is like chocolate. He is at his happiest with a big pile of succulent beef in front of him.) As I ate my petite filet and Chris wolfed down his 20 oz porterhouse, Chris remarked that the uber trendy couple next to us sharing a bottle of wine must be all of 12. I laughed and placed them at 23 or 24 years of age. It made us both realize our age. An age when anyone and everyone starts to look like a young un.

We are getting older. And in Chris's case, a little grayer. But if I had to do it all over again, I would still pick him to be by my side, to share my life, to grow older and grayer together.