I love birthdays.

I celebrate every year and for the past six of those years I have turned 29.

It started with my actual 29th birthday and then since I couldn't believe (or accept) I was turning 30 (or 31, 32, 33...) I just stuck with 29. Everyone knew how old I really was, I wasn't fooling anyone. It became a joke. My annual 29th birthday party.

Until I had two realizations.

One, as a mother of a girl, I want to be a confident example to her. Which means no negative self-talk. No "I need to go on a diet" or "I hate my hair" or "I'm old"--girls have enough pressure and hear all those comments everywhere else. I want her home to a be a place of positivity and acceptance. That's not to say I won't feel those things, but I want to (try to) express them in a positive light. I do not want my negative words to become her inner voice. I want my confident, positive, accepting, loving and assertive words to become her inner voice.

And, two, I decided it was a lot easier, and much more pleasant, to age gracefully rather than fighting it every step of the way. We are all getting older. Isn't it better than the alternative? Yeah, think about that for a moment...

Plus, to be honest, I'd rather be the age that I am now because of the person I am now. Just like when I was 29 I was better than when I was 21. Each year that I age I gain so much more than just another year. I gain confidence, knowledge, experiences, memories, children, friends... Why would I want to pretend that each year didn't happen?

As I embrace turning my age I decided to have a couple acts of rebellion--the Rebel Pendant, for one, and an edgy little arm party. I was going for a little rocker chic. I mean, I am married to a rock star...at least that's what he tells me.

So this year I am happily 36. As confident as I am in that, I do have to admit: the 39 to 40 year will be a tough one.

xo Sara