Tomorrow is my birthday. My 30th birthday. T is for thirty.
It would also have been our due date if the May 22nd transfer would have worked.
It might be a little rough. I'm not really looking forward to it. I planned on having a toddler by the time I was thirty. Instead, I'm still waiting. Impatiently waiting...as much as I try...patience is a virtue, and I seem to be running low on that one lately.
We're going out for dinner, with our neighbors. To a fancy restaurant. Where I will eat. And drink. Possibly a lot. I'm pretty sure I'm getting scallops, with risotto. A salty pear martini to start off, and then share a bottle of wine. Followed by their signature dessert, bread pudding. There's no carbs on your birthday, right?
Chad is also throwing me a 30th birthday party at our house...assuming the snow stays away. When the average annual snowfall is 2" and you get more than that overnight, it kind of shuts the city down. Rightly so, these people have ZERO idea how to drive in the snow. Or ice. Chains? Nah, the stores here don't carry enough to outfit the whole town. There's no need.
Anyway, all I know about my party is it's Sunday afternoon. There is cake (banana), alcohol (tons), and snacks (or "snats" as L would say) so it should be fun.
Or, if nothing else, a good distraction from my aging eggs.
