29

On the eve of my 29th... 

I just finished an entirely-too-large bowl of Bluebell Banana Pudding ice cream.

{worth it}

Earlier, E and I made slaw {he is quickly becoming a fine brussels shredder and dressing whisker} and roasted tri-colored pee wee potatoes and danced to a little Whitney for nostalgia's sake.

We watched the Grammys with our first born murmuring warm puppy sighs between us and our second to-be born performing the Fat Joy "Lean Back" against the right side of my rib cage.

Tomorrow, Monday, we start a new week...

Our last full week before meeting our daughter...

My last week before bidding good-bye to my colleagues and clients and ending a career chapter {more on that to come}...

The first week in the last year of my twenties.

I always thought 29 would be a tough pill to swallow.

And perhaps I'm simply too tired to fret over the passage of time, but I'd rather color myself content.

Content in timing that's out of my hands.  Content in this skin, even as it's been stretched and swollen and blemished these past months. Content with both my accomplishments and short-comings.  Content with taking life at a slower pace for a little while.

{Content with embodying  a few cliches as well, I'm afraid.}

Now, it is snowing.

As a kid, I always pined for a birthday pool party.  But this year... snow.

Ever-so-lightly falling, but... snow.

It's fitting, though.  I'll refrain from typing "content" again, but... Calm. 

Yep.  Calm. 

Don't worry, though.  There's more than enough time for an Epic Freak Out.

Pass the cupcakes, universe!