Last month, I turned 30.
That's right. The dirty thirty.
I spent that weekend with my hot husband, my energetic/psycho two year old, my newborn baby and my awesome parents who were in town from Utah.
My dad even flew in a couple of days early to be there on my actual birthday. When you are the
favorite child, you get perks like that.
We did a bunch of cool stuff that I am too lazy to write about, but trust me, it was cool.
I took some time to reflect on my 30 years of life and where I thought I would be at this point. I have accomplished all major goals I set for myself except one:
I still haven't come to terms with the fact that I was not born black.
I know in my heart there is an inner black girl aching to come out and be FABULOUS. That's why I still sing along in my car to Tupac and 50 Cent with my babies in the back seat.
That is also why I binge-watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta.
I wish someone asked me to prom like this :(
Other than that, there is nothing so seriously wrong with my life that a little Botox, Spanx, and a lot of praying can't fix.
My husband asked me what I wanted it to say on my cake.
I was breast feeding #2 at the time and jokingly told Jared to have the bakery write, "Happy Birthday Milk Tits".