I woke up this morning with a baby attached to my breast, asleep next to me in bed, just like every morning this week. I slowly got up, trying not to wake her, got dressed, then carefully carried her downstairs.
“Happy birthday,” Aaron said to me as I walked into the living room.
Then it hit me. “Oh yeah, it is my birthday, isn’t it?”
“Did you forget?”
“Yeah.”
I guess after you hit 30, birthdays don’t register as much anymore. Or maybe it’s because I have a newborn, and therefore every day feels like the same day over again right now.
So yeah, today is my birthday. I’m 31. Feels a lot like 30.
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