My Blank Baby Book

The other day my mom brought over my baby book. Inside the front cover was the newspaper clipping announcing my birth. The rest of the book was blank. What with being the third kid and all, I understand how filling out "firsts" becomes harder and harder. I see it with my own kids.

When I first saw it, my mom and I laughed. We joked about the empty pages. My dad said he couldn't believe she even gave it to me.

But later after they had left, I opened the book again. I was struck not by a feeling of woe is me, but of the bigger significance of the empty book. The yellowed birth announcement tucked inside the cover said "Here I am." The empty pages that followed said the possibilities for what comes next are endless. Those blank pages said to me: "Your life is yours to define. You get to decide how to fill this book of your life." I will not be defined by when I talked or walked. The fact that I wasn't potty trained by a certain age is insignificant.

It actually was a pretty powerful moment for me. Not one I'm sure my mom expected.

The fact that she gave it to me shortly after my 40th birthday, when I've done a whole lot of talking about re-inventing myself, wasn't lost on me. So here we go, no looking back. Moving forward, my book is empty and ready to be filled.