Happy Birthday to Me!

I had planned an essay on entering my thirties. But have since lost my literary get up and go for that endeavor. Suffice to say that today fells quite the same as yesterday did, and somehow my twentieth birthday seems a looooong way (a couple or three love affairs, two continents, a career, a marriage, two children, three cities, three apartments, one roommate, two houses, two dogs, and about 30lbs in both directions) ago.

Husband languishes in Alberta Canada, planning yet another polar bear exhibit, he'll be back tomorrow... My preceptor returns today from a few well earned days of vacation.

I must decide this afternoon whether or not I have the strength to endure a lovely thai meal in the actual restaurant (which means dining in public with my offspring) or if I will simply welcome a great pile of spicy goodness into my living room where I shall consume it in front of the wood stove and Gray's Anatomy. Methinks the latter is more appealing. I'll save the eating at a restaurant for Saturday night at lovely out of the way seafood joint before retiring to rockin' Victorian B&B with Husband upon his return. No kids all night (off call) means I might actually get laid and get to sleep in. Both these events occurring in the same sentence (or even the same month) have rarely happened since my early twenties. Not a bad birthday gift. Somehow appropriate for a thirtieth birthday.