This is a picture of me and my parents on my first birthday. My mom is pregnant with my brother and I have cake all over my face. I like it.

Today I turn twenty-eight, and I am solidly in my late twenties, which I guess is okay with me since I’ve felt like I’m twenty-eight for months already. I remember when I thought seventeen was soooo old, and when thirty seemed like a lifetime away. But honestly, despite the fact that I practically live the life of a grandma (sans retirement), I still feel young. I can’t imagine actually feeling old, even years and years from now. But what do I know about that?

It’s been quite a birthday week. We acquired a third dog, which has been fun and overwhelming and deserves a post of its own. I started an additional part-time job that had me nervous all week but turned out to be fine, and pays really well too. I’m probably getting a new car tomorrow, which is a good thing since I want to cry every time I get into my truck. Sadly I got sick this week, and still am, and I just don’t do sick well. The weather has been dreary since I can remember.

My husband has gone above and beyond to make sure I have a wonderful week with countless small gestures such as flowers, notes, and putting aside extra time for me, not to mention the gifts that he’s been orchestrating that I don’t know about yet. I haven’t exercised at all and I’ve eaten a lot of ice cream. It’s definitely a week I will remember for a long time.

I have today off work, but I plan to spend the bulk of it doing chores and errands. I simply won’t be able to relax otherwise, and I know how much happier and calmer I’ll be once it’s all finished. Then at the end of the day I get to go to my parents’ house for a mom-cooked meal, which somehow always makes things better.

I love being 28. I am in love with my life. Just, every once in awhile it would be nice to go back to being a baby with cake in my hair.