I'm now 41 years old. Funny, I don't feel 41. A friend of mine who, AHEM, turned 41 waaaaaay before I did (47 days before, but who's counting), said, "Welcome to the second half." Indeed. Only, since we're not really ready for the second half, we've declared this our "Intermission Year."
In contrast to the festive blowout we had last year, this year I spent most of my birthday hanging out with a friend, taking care of a cranky, teething baby, and doing a few chores. In the evening, a wonderful friend-in-the-computer-turned-friend-IRL watched Gabby while Atomic took me out for dinner and a movie. I ordered the grownup equivalent of the Birthday Belly-Bustin' Banana Split (i.e., a sushi roll so complex I couldn't name half the fish, so ornate that it included little spirals of gold amid dollops of caviar, and so long it took up half the table). Then we saw the latest Batman movie on Imax.
That would have been a fairly ordinary Saturday night not so long ago, but tonight it felt like heaven. And I confess, I missed my Peanut and was also simultaneously glad to have someone else put her to bed tonight.
It was a perfect birthday.