I can't believe I'm blogging...on my birthday.

I can't believe I have to work...on my birthday. But whatever.

I'm 32 now. That's actually not a birthday. All I want is to go out for sushi or something this weekend. Plus I still have a cold. All 32 really means to me is:

1. If I want another kid, I better get on that before my fertility goes to crap (unless it already has, which is possible.)

2. I'm that much closer to 40 sans college degree. Depressing.

I'd rather not think about numbers, and just enjoy the present. I actually have quite a fabulous life. I may not have a dazzling career, but I do have a husband I'm crazy about, a son who I adore, and a job I enjoy. Taking the plunge and becoming self-employed was one of the best moves I've made in quite some time. Granted, I'm only making about $10K per year, but I also don't have to pay to put Sam in daycare. Things could be a heck of a lot worse. Here's to one year wiser.