Who knew getting older could be so fabulous? Ever since it became obvious to my friends that I was turning 21 with suspicious frequency, my birthday has always been a bit of a downer.
In our 20s we can focus on the positive - we are growing up, not old. But in our 30s the worm turns and before you know it the dark cloud of 40 begins to loom with depressing portent. And so it was quite a surprise yesterday that I had what is undoubtedly one of the better birthdays since my 21st (back when I was 32).
For starters, it kicked off early with a date night with my foxy husband. It felt wonderful to dress up in the "new" date dress that I'd had reserved for quite some time (given that most nights I wear a mixture of pumpkin puree and yoghurt).
Young Edward gave me the greatest gift of all by staying with Granny and Poppa, so not only did I get a night off, I got a sleep-in as well.
For longer than I can remember, my favourite simple pleasure is to curl up in bed with chocolate and low-brow chick lit (the sort with pictures of airbrushed hot women on the cover and the word "scandal" in the title somewhere). Thus started life as a 30-something-year-old (hey, I've only just stopped being 21, do you really think I'm going to tell you my actual age?). The day continued with the joy that can only come from seeing your toddler's smiling face when they've been away from you for a night.