Today is my 28th birthday. I used to be quite the princess on my birthday. I insisted that my mom take the Christmas tree down before my birthday, was disgusted when people wrapped my gifts in Christmas paper, and they didn't dare give me combination gifts. Until I started working in a juvenile detention facility, I hadn't actually ever worked on my birthday, and for my 18th birthday, my grandpa got somebody to shoot off a cannon. Yep, you read that right. I had a cannon at my 18th birthday party. Today, I'm going to be a real adult and head to work and maybe come home to a glass of red wine. Craig and I went out for supper on Tuesday night, so I can't complain too much.
I can't believe I'm 28. I feel like I oscillate between feeling really old and feeling incredibly young. On one hand, I have a mortgage and a baby. On the other, I often find myself feeling naive and unsure of myself.
As I was looking through pictures, I found this picture from my 24th birthday. I wanted it to be classy--I wore trouser jeans, we went to Olive Garden, and followed dinner with a cookie and a couple of beers at my favorite local brewery and restaurant. There was a guy playing a guitar in the corner, and my friends convinced him to play Happy Birthday for me. He requested that I dance on the bar, but I exercised some restraint and refused.
Things are so much different now than they were then. These two ladies have moved across the country. I'm living in a little house with a white picket fence, raising a little boy, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.