For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what Andy got me for my birthday last year.

I think monumental gifts stopped about four years ago.  We were too tired for intricacy.  Had too much baggage for quick getaways.  And, our birthdays were always kinda backburnered to the ordering of Lightning McQueen cakes and Bounce House Rentals.

Naturally, I was still pretty good about celebrating Andy’s birthday, but that’s because I am awesomer than him, and really, really good at juggling lots of balls at once.

I should have been in the circus.

Or in porn.

Ironically, neither of those jobs came up on the career aptitude thing I took in high school.

A dog walker or a proctologist?

Are those even real jobs?!

Anyways, as I woke up to my 29th birthday, already annoyed I had to shower and pluck my eyebrows for my new Drivers License picture, I was totally bummed to find no gift.

No cheesy card.  No sloppy crayon drawn kid handprints.  No dolphin.

We went to the DMV (ahem, still holding strong at 125lbs, thankyouverymuch *TOE TOUCH*), we got lunch at a local Mexican cantina, and by my third grande margarita I was all, duuude, you didn’t even remember to get me a birthday present you’re the worst wife everrrrr.  And Andy was like, it’s only 11am Lindsay Lohan, rehook your bra so we can leave, you’ll get it soon enough.

Touche, Andy.

So, we got home and he hands me a gift bag.

The kind of gift bag you put wine in.

And I was like, are you trying to have sex with me, because that could have already happened two margaritas and a cantina parking lot dry heave ago.  And he was all, just open it.

So, I did, and it wasn’t wine.

It’s sparkly and pretty and won’t leave me regretting bad sexual choices the next morning when I can’t sit on my butt for two days.


I know, right!?

Which leads me to my next point.

I totally remember why I don’t recall what I got for my birthday last year!

I was busy.

Doing this…

One year ago today, everything changed.

In a matter of three pushes, I fell in love and met one of my best friends in the world.

She lets me do her hair, and paint her toenails, and sing really loud in the car.

When I look at her, I see her life in both moments and years.

A year later, and she still leaves me speechless.

Andy told me today, while I was making chocolate birthday milkshakes for breakfast, that between the ring and the girl, he’s off the hook for the next ten birthdays.

And, while they are both awfully lovely…

If he thinks that the one time he gets me a gift that isn’t a card that plays music, a free RedBox rental or one of those chintzy wooden angels things you give grandmothers who are about to die, he would be mistaken.

Because if we are keeping score, I birthed three children and I got him courtside basketball tickets last year.

I am pretty sure I win.

And by win, I mean I get fun gifts (read: dolphins, a sword or a robot that unwraps Starbursts)  in exchange for never being able to look my vagina in the face again.

Even though.


Totally worth it.

Happy 1st Birthday my Gigi!


Hey look!  I got a mention in Women’s Day magazine!  No.  Seriously.

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