Saturday was my birthday. I am now thirty years old. The big 3-0. Luckily for me, aside from feeling very, very...um, gravid, I don't feel any older. In fact, I still don't feel much older than 23. Usually. Someone asked me how it felt to be over the hill and I told him I was pretty sure I hadn't crested it yet. And that's the god's-honest truth.
Todd managed, despite a few touch-n-go moments, to pull off a lovely party for me out at our lake cabin. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't the 30th birthday I'd pictured in my younger days, but in the end, I think it was better. There were kids and horse shoes and hot dogs and creek water, and nary a soul was drunk at the end of the day. But the weather was perfect and my friends all had fun. And in the end, I'll trade a photo like this for a drunken soiree any day.
Plus, the night before the party Todd gave me the most spectacular gift he's ever given me (children aside): a pair of stunning earrings, thereby rendering all previous acts of unintentional thoughtlessness null and void. I don't even want to know how much they cost, but I would be lying if I said my inner girlie-girl didn't squeal every time I open the box. If they weren't princess-cut and pointy, I'd sleep in them.
So far, 30 feels pretty damn good.
My work deadlines are slowing to a slightly more reasonable pace, so I should be able to pick back up where I left off. I'll finish out my Key West post, and answer all your questions. Thanks for sticking with me!