As I type this, I am mere moments away from the clock striking twelve and it officially being January 30th, my birthday. My thirty-fucking-seventh birthday. Yay.
I'm so happy I could cry.
Despite the fact that I had one ROCKIN' ASS party last night (thanks for showing up everyone!! I've got so much wine/booze/beer/cheese left over, that I'm going to have to call an emergency deck sitting/happy hour thing very, very soon), and despite the fact that I'm very, very happy with my current situation in life, this birthday is still hitting me. Hard. Like Coyote-hit-by-an-ACME-anvil hard. Whatever the reason, it's not a date I've been looking forward to. I guess I have no choice but to suck it up and see what lies ahead.
In the meantime, here's a little birthday gift I gave myself earlier today. That shmutz on her face? Guacamole. Leftover party guacamole for dinner. I AM the Mother of the Year.