Today marks the last day of my 28th year of life. I start the last year of my 20s tomorrow.


I love my birthday.

Somewhere in the Shiz Family Archives there is a video of me at maybe my 4th or 5th birthday. I am opening presents with glee. One particular item has me really jazzed, but I can’t quite place what it is…

“It’s… it’s… it’s…”

My mother helps me out from behind the camera:

“It’s rainbow pony.”

Me, shrieking:


This level of enthusiasm hasn’t changed much as I get older. My parents always did a great job of giving us each a sufficient amount of fanfare surrounding each year’s passing, and my poor husband is learning that I expect the same in my adulthood.

I celebrate for weeks.

And this year, I’m particularly excited both about all the accomplishments of the big 28 and about all the exciting things to come in the year 29. At 29, I will become a mother. Can it get any better?

I expect that it only will.

As we gear up to celebrate my birth, I can’t help but think about the upcoming birth of our daughter. Her birthday will be in the next few months. Hard to believe. If the years behind me are any indication of what Baby Dub can expect, she’s going to have a lot of fanfare and fireworks and joy and celebration and general hubbub surrounding the celebration of her existence.

I secretly hope she thinks that the 4th of July holiday, fireworks, etc. are all about her.

If she’s anything like her mother, she will.

Here’s to you, Baby Dub. Tomorrow may be all about me, but this year is going to be all about you.

And I’m cool with that.

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