I never really have had expectations about at what age I would get married or have babies or achieve certain things, and it didn't even cross my mind that there was some unspoken agreement among the female species that there were certain "times" to have accomplished such things. I guess that's why the transition from my young 20s to my late 20s has been kind of anticlimactic. I emotionally steeled myself at 25, expecting to have some kind of "quarter life crisis" as I had heard so often about, but I blew out my candles in 2007 with nary a hint of sadness as I strolled on in to the latter half of this decade. I expected again at 27, to have some kind of "OMG, ALMOST THIRTY" moment... as if that is some kind of cut-off for something? But no, nothing. My birthday came and went on Saturday, and while I was blessed enough to be surrounded by family visiting for Matt's graduation, and some of the best LOLcards with warm'n'fuzzy and kind messages, and an amazing red velvet cake... I slipped into 27 quietly, almost as if I was already meant to be here.
I have enjoyed my 20s. I remember 20 for a life in Spain. I remember 21 for my first knock you on your ass relationship. 22 for my colitis diagnosis and graduation from college. 23 for making a home in Baltimore on my own. 24 for rekindling a relationship that turned into a marriage. 25 for that marriage. 26 for launching a business. I am ready for you 27. Bring me something good.