It’s. My. Birthday. Oh yes it is. Hello, 35, is that you knocking? Well, don’t be shy, come on in. I’m ready for ya!

The house is still recovering from Jackson’s birthday bash and the laundry hasn’t been done for a week. The kitchen sink busted and the disposal had to be replaced. The beds are unmade and there may be pee-pee on the playroom carpet. Micah has a bite mark on his arm from playgroup and a sidewalk imprint on his forehead from this morning’s face plant.

But, 35, I tell you what – I ain’t scared of you. My gutters may be hanging on by a thread but my heart’s so stuffed full of love I’m bursting at the seams. My house is so crazy because it’s so chock full of the energy of boys. Resounding choruses of “Happy Birthday” drown out the chaos and sweet, snotty kisses should be how everyone starts the day.

My inbox is littered with mail from all the places around the globe I love the most and as I type this, someone with goldie locks is lying accross my lap letting me twine his curls around my finger.

Every piece of furniture, every toy, every book crowded into every nook and cranny of this house whispers happy birthday to me by re-gifting me with memory after memory of year after year that led me to this morning.

The zebra striped¬† “out of Africa” letterholder that my dad mailed all the way to Ukraine when I turned 30. My collection of books by Eva Ibbotson that my mother bestowed on me out of her own bookcase, one by one. A collection that I kept up when she died a week to the day after I turned 18. The leather sofas from South Africa that now sit in my living room here in the US. The Ann Klein watch that was my first ever present from Peter, 13 years and three continents ago. Since then he has upped the ante and given me two baby boys.

All I wanted for my 30th birthday was a baby. And that baby just turned 4 three days ago. And for my 33rd birthday and Christmas present combo I got baby boy number 2.

I may have crayon on my walls and unidentifiable items in my fridge, but I got love, love, love, love, crazy love! That’s what Pete and I danced to at our wedding, 2 weeks before I turned 25.

So, 35, I ain’t scared of you. There may have been bumps and bruises along the way, but dang if it hasn’t been one heck of a journey. So, bring on the next big milestone (40 I’m looking at you) ’cause I’ve got nothing but great expectations!

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