Happy Birthday to Me
Today I am 35 years old, and that is TOTALLY okay with me. At times my body feels old and decrepit, and I’m chubbier than I want to be, but I am doing exactly what I want to be doing. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, and a friend, and there’s nothing more, really, that I need on this Earth. All the rest of it is gravy, as they say, though I prefer to think of it as chocolate sauce because gravy is, well, not chocolate.
This has been an introspective year for me, what with the anger problem getting flushed out and the blogging taking off. I’ve spent a lot of time deconstructing Me and telling You all about it. But the good news is, I’m running out of things to say on that front because I’m getting my shit together.
[Can I hear an amen?]
So now you get to hear more about my writing projects, though I promise to continue peppering my posts with cute antics of my children, and descriptions of my toddler-like tantrums (I’m not perfect yet), and reports of What I Did Last Week. Because what would a blog be like without such narcissistic subject matter?
Thank you, dear readers, for your love and support of this blog. Thank you for coming back to read me. Thank you for your kind words about my writing. Thank you for supporting this writer as she comes of age on the internet.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.