Happy Birthday to Me

It's my birthday. I'm 34. I had lunch just now with my friend Joann at an Indian restaurant. It's something of a tradition for me. I eat Indian on my birthday.

This past weekend, I took my baby to a farm which doubles as a petting zoo. We saw all the animals whose names she's learning, and she told them what sounds they're supposed to make. She fed llamas, which she calls “mamas,” horses, pigs, bunnies, sheep, ducks, swans, and more. We bought eggs that had just been inside a chicken the morning before. That evening, my little family went out for pizza because pizza is the baby's favorite food. I built my birthday around events that would please her.

It's a season of financial press and some confusion at times about who we are and where we're going, but last night, lying in bed with my sweet daughter (who slept 5 straight hours as a wonderful birthday gift to me) I realized how very blessed I am. Life is sweet and complicated, confusing and complete.  My daughter is beautiful. My husband loves me. Our home is warm and safe and filled with promise. We always have more than enough.