Saturday, September 22, 2012

Happy belated birthday to me

Last Friday I turned thirty. The big 3-0. I thought I would be more...I don't know, affected by it. I'm not. I don't really care. I used to care; I used to think that my thirtieth birthday would be some big milestone, and that it would magically make my family treat me like an adult. That happened somewhere in my late twenties, though--turns out children and home ownership can make others realize you really are grown up. Some others, anyway. But it left me with nothing to look forward to on my birthday, a decent chunk of which was spent in the doctor's office with Yaya.

He fell off some playground equipment (it sounds like a rock climbing wall the way he describes it, and I never knew there were rock climbing walls on school playgrounds) so, as with all head injuries sustained in this house, off we went to the doctor to make sure he hadn't cracked his skull. It was intact, so no worries there. He is annoyed with me for taking a picture here.

Anyway, happy birthday to me. Now I can't tease B about being "old" since we're both the same age now, at least for the next three months.

Oh, and the post on the boys' birthday party is coming. I've been writing it for three days, but, like the magpie that I am, I keep getting distracted by shiny things and wandering off. Oops.

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