Before I begin, I should say we got home safely yesterday, and thank you for your many prayers.  And thank you for the suggestion that I turn the last 9 days into a movie script.  I shall be played by Sandra Bullock and Greg will of course, be played by Neil Patrick Harris, because we are just awesome that way.  And to my friend Lydia: while this post does divulge my actual birthday, our birthday rule still stands: we are lifelong friends who DO NOT remember, recall, or in any way, acknowledge each others birthdays.  We are LOW MAINTENANCE lifelong friends.  We would give each other organs before we’d mail birthday cards.  That’s just who we are, and I love us this way.

I’ve spent the last week saying, “Yeah.  38.  Because you know, I’ve always wanted to be 38.”  I was joking, of course.  I wanted to stay 17, to be quite honest.  I would have been thrilled to have stopped the clock at 30.  38?  Wasn’t exactly on my life’s list of “Totally Rockin’ Ages I Wish To Be”.  Since Christmas, I’ve done little more than take stock of the number of body parts that aren’t where I left them…at 30.  Some things are sagging.  Others are bulging.  Many parts…I’m just not sure where they came from.  I think my butt is trying to escape and move around to the front.  Despite a month of all out sprinting on the treadmill, I actually gasped when I saw my thighs in the dressing room mirror today.  I think I might have lost consciousness for a moment. 

I figured…heck, let’s just skip this one.  But then my Mother-In-Law made a sour cream pound birthday cake with buttercream icing.  OH MA’ GOODNESS, did you hear me right?  Pound cake, sour cream, buttercream…all mixed together with SUGAR.  It is more than my favorite flavor, it is an anthem to all that is right about eating cake.  My In-Laws gave me an absolutely perfect in every way chocolate brown quilted parka.  How I have coveted the Land’s End parkas.  It’s wrong, I know…but I’m cold.  You know how once every decade, you land a coat that is the perfect warmth, but not too bulky, and light to wear, and you’re never too hot, and never too cold, and the color of that coat is just your favorite thing?  THIS is THAT coat.  Honestly, I’ve considered sleeping in it, because if you made a blanket exactly like my coat, everyone above the Mason-Dixon line would want one.

I woke up on my auspicious 38th birthday with zero plans surrounded by zero thoughts about those plans.  Greg decided we should get donuts.  HEY!  That’s a plan I can get behind.  Literally…more of my behind on it’s journey to my gut.  And then he decided I should take some time for myself.  HEY!  That’s an ever better plan!  Little did I know he had a plan of his own: take the girls for Daddy & Daughter portraits as a surprise for The Momma.

My favorite consignment shop was having a BIG sale, and my wallet was stuffed with every dime of my birthday money.  For once, I had full intentions of spending every dime on myself.  1 Liz Clairborne shirt, 1 Coldwater Creek blouse, 1 L.L. Bean sweater, 1 Lauren sweater, 1 Talbot’s sweater, and one gorgeous pair of brown leather laced ballet flats, and a whopping $70 later, I waved ta ta to my friends at Selective Seconds and headed out for more adventures.  $70 is probably the most I’ve spent on my clothes in years, and honestly, while thrift shopping has taken me some time to learn how to do correctly…I’m not sure I can ever go back to full price retail shopping.  It’s painful!

A little more thrifting and I found a Barbie townhouse in perfect condition.  Sterling.  Can you imagine the odds of finding a used Barbie toy that appeared brand new?  For $18?  It was MY DAY.  Happy Valentines Day Girls…you are going to freak when you get this toy.  Nope…didn’t spend my birthday money on it.  Sorry, still feeling a bit selfish on my birthday.

Off to the mall to exchange a mistake I made at Victoria’s Secret.  Sorry, more butt comments, but while I’m on the subject…now that things have shifted, I will need to try on all unmentionables prior to buying.  My body is moving and apparently, doing so…crookedly.  Do they hire anyone above the age of 20 at Victoria’s Secret?  I dread walking in the store, but I dread pantylines more.  “HELLO!  Welcome!  Can I help you with anything today?”  “Well yes, I hope you can.  I’ve had 2 C-Sections and my gut is as wiggly as The Great Wall of China.  Do you have any underwear that could correct my current predicament without being actually classified as Granny Panties?”  Honestly is my policy ladies.  If you cannot be honest…they cannot help you.  At that point in our pleasant exchange, the 19 year old Size 2 Blonde Salesgirl threw up in her mouth while dashing to the drugstore to buy more contraceptives.  If you can’t be a good example, you’ll have to settle for being a horrible warning.

I was caught off guard by the Lands End 80% off shoe sale.  80%?  Now you’re just flirting with me.  And as I handed the well-dressed, rather stylish check out guy my $9.00, he looked up and said, “If I may say so, you have really great hair.”  You may!  Wait.  Hold the phones.  I DO have really great hair.  It might be said that I have had a life long love affair with my hair.  You know what hasn’t shifted, pudged out, sagged, or otherwise let me down?  MY HAIR.  With a flip of my ebony curls, I headed home.  I felt amazing.

My beautiful family was anxiously waiting to give me a Barbie wrapped box: their big surprise. Oh, I love, love, love these portraits.  Then we went out for fried chicken and ice cream.  You just can’t have a better birthday than this one.  I told Greg if we could repeat this day year after year, I’m a very happy girl.

Hey Big World, I’m 38.  Pretty damn excited about it, to be honest.  38 is destined to be my year, I can feel it.  Still no plans, but I’ve got this beautiful new kelly green sweater for which I paid $11, I’ve get more hugs and kisses on a daily basis than most people get in a year, I’ve got one helluva fantastic husband…and I have great hair.  Yeah 38!  Bring it on 38.  Show me what you got…