Dear lord. I'm thirty years old. That's three decades.
Thanks to everyone who's called and emailed and posted a happy birthday. I'm touched in a special way (but not that special or I might not respect you in the morning).
Thac0 sent me a card. If the squirrel/cat/gopher/thing had a bigger stomach and had slept half the night on the couch with her arm stuck under a preschooler, that would basically be a good representation of me. Meanwhile, Jobthingy sent me this card, which pretty much looks exactly like me. Also, I can't keep my mouth shut and I'm loud, so overall I give it an 8.5 for style.
I know I've been a neglectful Maven the last couple of days, but it's been chaotic. For example, while running errands this morning, I was listening to a CD I hadn't heard for a while in the van. The first song to come on was from Mr. 50 Cent. At first I thought I could really relate to it.
Damn straight it's my birthday, Fiddy.
Um, if by 'party' you mean 'We gon' drive up in your minivan to the hospital, have your blood taken for a potentially serious liver condition you had in Intrepid's pregnancy and thought you might not get again but are starting to show symptoms of, then we gon' stand in line to get your license renewed', then yes, we are most certainly partying it up, yo.
If by 'Bacardi' you mean a half-decaf with two cream procured by my baby daddy, Geekster that I sipped for about an hour this morning before waddling around the city getting poked (not in a good way) and paying for the right to drive, then yes. I'm way too old, pregnant and a lush to be sipping anything else, baby.
Now I'm just confused. If we're going to party and sip alcoholic beverages, why do we suddenly not care? You obviously cared enough to write a song about it. Oh, Fiddy, you remind me just how anciet and uncool I am. Not to mention that this is playing in my minivan.
Ahem, anyway... It's been a good birthday, other than the running around this morning. The Madre is here, jamming with Intrepid and Gutsy (she plays a mean guitar). When Geekster gets home we're going to go check in to the hotel and pretend we don't have children for about 24hrs (other than the constant reminder of a moving, rolling, cervix-whacking bowling ball in my stomach) . Gutsy was thrilled that grandma was here until he realized she was not pitching the tent in the backyard and that they were not camping under the stars. He pouted until he found the craft supplies and sugary cereals she brought over. Then all was forgiven.
I would have posted yesterday, but it was even worse. I won't even go into detail because it's too traumatic on my pregnant psyche. A whirlwind of non-stop driving and appointments. Not exactly the way I wanted to spend the last day in my 20s, but would fate have it any other way?
So I'm thirty. Old, but not ancient. I won't be ancient until I'm 40, according to Intrepid. Horray! Ten more years to save up for my walker. Or maybe I'll get one of those motorized things and scowl as I try to run down little kids on the sidwalk.
Hey, everyone needs a hobby. Even old people.
Thanks to everyone who's called and emailed and posted a happy birthday. I'm touched in a special way (but not that special or I might not respect you in the morning).
Thac0 sent me a card. If the squirrel/cat/gopher/thing had a bigger stomach and had slept half the night on the couch with her arm stuck under a preschooler, that would basically be a good representation of me. Meanwhile, Jobthingy sent me this card, which pretty much looks exactly like me. Also, I can't keep my mouth shut and I'm loud, so overall I give it an 8.5 for style.
I know I've been a neglectful Maven the last couple of days, but it's been chaotic. For example, while running errands this morning, I was listening to a CD I hadn't heard for a while in the van. The first song to come on was from Mr. 50 Cent. At first I thought I could really relate to it.
Go shorty, it's your birthday!
Damn straight it's my birthday, Fiddy.
We gon' party like it's yo birthday
Um, if by 'party' you mean 'We gon' drive up in your minivan to the hospital, have your blood taken for a potentially serious liver condition you had in Intrepid's pregnancy and thought you might not get again but are starting to show symptoms of, then we gon' stand in line to get your license renewed', then yes, we are most certainly partying it up, yo.
We gon' sip Bacardi like it's yo birthday
If by 'Bacardi' you mean a half-decaf with two cream procured by my baby daddy, Geekster that I sipped for about an hour this morning before waddling around the city getting poked (not in a good way) and paying for the right to drive, then yes. I'm way too old, pregnant and a lush to be sipping anything else, baby.
'Cause you know we don't give a f*ck
It's not your birthday!
Now I'm just confused. If we're going to party and sip alcoholic beverages, why do we suddenly not care? You obviously cared enough to write a song about it. Oh, Fiddy, you remind me just how anciet and uncool I am. Not to mention that this is playing in my minivan.
Ahem, anyway... It's been a good birthday, other than the running around this morning. The Madre is here, jamming with Intrepid and Gutsy (she plays a mean guitar). When Geekster gets home we're going to go check in to the hotel and pretend we don't have children for about 24hrs (other than the constant reminder of a moving, rolling, cervix-whacking bowling ball in my stomach) . Gutsy was thrilled that grandma was here until he realized she was not pitching the tent in the backyard and that they were not camping under the stars. He pouted until he found the craft supplies and sugary cereals she brought over. Then all was forgiven.
I would have posted yesterday, but it was even worse. I won't even go into detail because it's too traumatic on my pregnant psyche. A whirlwind of non-stop driving and appointments. Not exactly the way I wanted to spend the last day in my 20s, but would fate have it any other way?
So I'm thirty. Old, but not ancient. I won't be ancient until I'm 40, according to Intrepid. Horray! Ten more years to save up for my walker. Or maybe I'll get one of those motorized things and scowl as I try to run down little kids on the sidwalk.
Hey, everyone needs a hobby. Even old people.