That's so insane.
I don't feel thirty... but really I haven't felt a certain age since I became a mom. I've felt like a mom for twelve years and being a mom is an ageless thing. It's all responsibility and second-guessing and reading books to learn and to teach and smiling even when you feel like crying and skinned knees and loose teeth and worrying and praising and trying. And it's awesome. Even when it's scary and daunting, it's awesome. And because of the awesomeness, it somehow passes quickly and suddenly your baby is about to be twelve and you are about to be thirty and you go holy shit, how did that happen?
Anyway, let me get back on track.
In a year and a half, I will be in Ireland.
Hopefully with several of my best friends.
And so I just thought now might be a good time to start asking the universe for a pretty Irish boy for my thirtieth birthday.
Please, please, please, please, please?
Labels: Being a Chic, Being Mommy, birthday, My pathetic excuse for a love life, The Universe
