When people ask me how old I am, my first instinct is to tell them 25. It is not that I am embarrassed about my real age, rather somewhere in my subconscious, I am stuck at 25. Maybe my 25th year was particularly eventful - I got engaged, married, made a long distance move, and started a new job; or maybe it was because on my 25th birthday time stood still due to the terrorist attacks.
It is really odd having your birthday on September 11th. It was my birthday long before the horrific events of that day, yet still people do not expect me to be too happy or to party too hardy (because I am such a wild child - har har har). Many people also don't like to wish me a happy birthday without also noting that the day is "bittersweet" as if acknowledging that the day has any alternative significance is somehow unpatriotic.
The good news is, in my house, my two little munchkins don't yet understand any of the significance of the date. When we ask LP whose birthday is coming up she responds, "Tuesday is my party." Today is Thursday, it is my birthday, and there is no party, but hopefully there will be lots of hugs and kisses waiting for me when I get home. Oh, and I just got a phone call where LP sang to me an original composition, "Mommy mom, mommy mom, mommy mommy, mommy, mom."