31.

With a few hours left until I turn 31 I find myself not really caring that much. Last year was a big deal. Or so I thought. I thought 30 was huge. I had a party. I don’t have parties. I remember dreading my 30th, asking my peers how they were handling 30. But 31? I don’t really care, just another birthday, another day. I got this.

Last month Annie went to a friend’s birthday party. As a gift I bought her the unthinkable. A nightie. Thought nothing of it. I bought Annie a similar one a few days before and she hasn’t taken it off so I figured why not? Then I realized I just gifted a nightie. A nightie! But you know what? She LOVED it. Then it happened again today. That’s become my go-to gift.

Why is this a big deal? Why am I even talking about it and who cares that I gifted a nightie? Growing up I was the kid who gifted nighties. Obviously they weren’t Frozen ones with sparkly tulle and a detachable cape, rather they were the plaid itchy kind that hang out in the bottom of your drawer until you outgrow it. But now I think about it and I’m like F*** that, it’s just so practical! And then I’m like wow, I am growing up!

So hey, 31, bring it.

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