It's my birthday, it's my birthday

I'm still in my 30s, I'm still in my 30s...

Since it's the last year I can say that, I'm saying it LOUD and I'm saying it PROUD.

Thirty-nine.

39.

Does that sound old or what?

Thanks to my lovely head cold, 39 feels like the new 59.

I can't really complain, though. Thirty-eight was pretty good to me.

I ran my first 10ks, half-marathons and one Big Honkin' Marathon.

I got down to a size 6.

I didn't murder accidentally maim or otherwise injure either of my kids or dogs.

My husband still loves me. I think.

My snoring and recent affair with my box of Kleenex might send him over the edge.

I killed a ginormous mutant spider in my son's room. All by myself. Because David wasn't home, leaving me to fend for myself.

I made great new friends.

I said goodbye to my father.

I hosted my mother - twice - for five days. And survived.

I raised $5,000 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and delivered an SUV-full of baby stuff to a very needy family.

I bought into a business and hosted my first home workshop.

I got some freelance gigs.

I ran 12 - or was it 14? - miles with a severe sinus infection.

I listened to my "mommy gut" and got Sage speech therapy.

I got new boots. Today. Wanna see?


I took risks.

I did something for myself.

I'm 39.