30 Apr

Wednesday was my birthday. And I don’t have a single picture to prove it. I wish that meant that it didn’t really happen, but unfortunately I turned 27 on the 28th.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my birthday. Probably more than I should. So many of my loves came out and celebrated with me. We ate food, drank beer, downed birthday shots. Well, they downed birthday shots. I sipped mine because I suck at taking shots that was the birthday girl’s prerogative. And everyone knows you can’t argue with the birthday girl. I hope my friends know how much they mean to me. In my drunkenness I told my husband I was going to send each and everyone a personalized email professing my love and gratitude. He called my bluff and asked to by CC’d on each of those emails. Turns out he was right, but I think they all know anyway. Somethings just go without saying.

For some reason, turning 27 has been especially difficult for me. I guess I finally feel old grown up for the first time. The Mister and I are talking houses and babies. And soon. While I definitely wants all these things (and soon), I just can’t help but to use my birthday as a day of reflection on just how far I’ve come and just how far I plan to go this year.

I definitely want to buy a house, the sooner the better. Babies, however, are going to wait until September. That way I can make the most of this final childless summer. I have decided to do anything and everything I can. The beach, wine festivals, late nights and late mornings, and everything in between. I really want to live it up and enjoy the last part of this chapter of my life.

Before bigger and better, both literally and figuratively.


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