I turned forty last Tuesday. I instinctively wanted to ignore the day, or rather, celebrate it in solitude. I had the semi-idealistic notion of sitting atop a mountain with a bottle of wine, reflecting and soul searching, while gazing up at the stars. This, of course, didn’t happen.

Instead, I was roused by the sudden yell of a toddler announcing that he was awake. I got him and his sister out of their cribs and sleepily walked into the bathroom. I briefly made eye contact with a familiar, but strange face, then glanced away as I brushed my teeth and splashed my eyes with cold water. Sleep was still heavy on my mind, my body still drowsy, but toddlers do not allow slow awakenings, not even for your birthday. They ran circles around me, and in and out of the bedrooms upstairs, talking excitedly and genuinely eager to start a new day. When I was dressed, I managed to corral them, and the three of us headed downstairs. The coffee was made, and I poured myself a small cup. I sat down on the sofa with a hope that I would be able to sit for a minute and enjoy it, but toddlers do not allow hot coffee, not even for your birthday.