In sixty days (or 1,440 hours, but who’s counting?) I will turn 35 friggin’ years old. About a month ago, when I brought it to my husband’s attention that this monumental b-day was approaching, his response was, “Damn, baby! You’re old!” Since he’s only four months my junior, I’ll dismiss that comment as “cute” and let him live (plus, he IS an integral part of this here baby-making scheme).
Interestingly enough, today also corresponds with day 1 of something else I’ve been expecting. I think that’s an adequate explanation.
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