Sarah Nigbor

As I write this, the clock is about to strike midnight, turning the calendar to July 8, my 45^th birthday. It’s hard for me to realize that I am 45 years old. Some days I feel like I’m 21. Other days I feel as weary as 90. But one thing I know for sure, is that I feel like I’ve finally become comfortable with the person I am. Took me long enough, huh? I’ll never be as thin as I want, or have as much patience as I should have, but I think I’m pretty okay. I strive to be kind, work hard and love to see others happy.

Growing up, I was painfully shy. I hated talking to people I didn’t know and in fact, just wanted to be invisible. I spent my time observing others rather than jumping into conversations. Books were my best friends, taking me to lands near and far. The thought of public speaking gave me heart palpitations and I was mortified when my grandma put her foot down and made me be in the church Christmas play (I hope no one remembers that stellar performance).

If you know me, you know my faith in God is a cornerstone of who I am. You also know that I think God has a wonderful sense of humor. How else can you explain that I grew up working in restaurants as a server/bartender and became a newspaper reporter, two professions in which you have to talk to a lot of people you don’t know? The shy, quiet girl with the thick glasses turned into a smart mouth with a love of wicked comebacks, not afraid to speak to anyone or stand up to people when she feels the need.

I also swore I would never be a mother. The thought of driving a minivan, cleaning up after a messy child and trading in freedom for constant responsibility was not on my bucket list. God must’ve been laughing at that one, because I had a beautiful baby girl and became a mother to three rambunctious, rowdy stepsons. The joke is on me. I still refuse to drive a minivan, though a third row SUV is pretty close. Sigh. Some day I will be “cool” again.

It took me a long time to be comfortable with who I am, a lesson I am repeating to myself daily as my almost teenage daughter begins to find herself. The sweet, quiet girl who loved art, animals and being with me everywhere I went turned overnight into a tall young woman (who towers over me) with black eyeliner, disdain for everything I say and a love for 90s grunge and metal. It was so fast that I feel like I have whiplash or went through a portal to another dimension. Maybe it’s a phase, maybe it’s not, but I’ll be here for her through it all, whether she wants me to or not. I’m just grateful that she is growing up to be a kind young lady who isn’t afraid to speak her mind (we’re working on the respectful part) or stand up for her beliefs. She is much braver than I ever was, so maybe some of my hard-earned wisdom has rubbed off on her. I hope so, but she’d never admit it.

She will forever be the best birthday present I ever received, though her arrival was three days past my birthday. She was also 11 days past her due date, a fact I remind her of often when we’re running late because of her beauty routine.

And so begins the July week of celebrations in our house. My birthday, my wedding anniversary and our daughter’s birthday. To make it more hectic, we’re throwing in our son’s graduation party too. I’m beginning my next trip around the son celebrating with those I love, and who could ask for more?