27

Poor Matt. As a guy who claims birthdays to be “not a big deal”, he’s probably kicking himself for marrying someone who loves birthdays like I do. The first year we were married, I cried on my birthday because he left an unwrapped DVD on the kitchen table as my gift. Now, I really and truly was not trying to be ungrateful, but I guess it just didn’t live up to the elaborate birthday extravaganzas I had growing up.

There was that fancy tea party I had. And then the Hawaiian luau. And Daisy the clown. And of course the 18th birthday party that will forever go down in infamy. Oh and I can’t forget my 21st birthday scavenger hunt throughout all of Williamsburg. Those were the days…

Anyway, throw a husband, a dog, a mortgage, and two kids in the mix, and things change a little. But my 27th birthday was a fabulous one this week! First, my sweet coworkers threw me a surprise birthday party at work on Monday. However, Matt, knowing how much I hate surprises, was kind enough to inform me in advance of this. (Really people- I warned him last week that if he ever threw me a big surprise party, I would kill him. Looking back on that statement, though, I think that might be a bit extreme.)

Then came the 20th, which started off perfectly as my sweet husband dragged his pitiful self out of bed with me at 5:30am to get me a piping hot cup of coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. The fun surprises continued throughout the day. It truly does not take much. I was beyond thrilled when I discovered a container of frozen Cool Whip topped with a bow in the freezer.

Finally, came date night. I requested Panera and a quick jaunt around the mall to spend some of my birthday money. This was huge for me because 1. I don’t enjoy shopping and 2. I really haven’t bought myself non-maternity clothes since we got married. Sad but true. I lucked out with some cute clothes and headed home a happy, 27 year old girl.

Matt claims that turning 27 means my life is pretty much over. Thanks, babe. I love you too.