I am thirty-eight year old today. And I have a two year old. And I am still lactating. Oh, I'm depressed now. I really didn't think I would be changing diapers at this stage in my life.
I complain a lot about my life. I'm not a published writer, I'm overweight, my house isn't as clean as I would like, I don't know how to knit, I haven't finished the granny square afghan for my son, etc., etc.
The list is endless and just about as shallow.
So, on this day, I will focus on what I have accomplished. I have actually published, I have an article on historical research published in The Romance Wrtier's Handbook. I have three bright and healthy children and a wonderful husband who is devoted to me. Although I'm still overweight, I've been working out and am in the best shape I've been since my early 20's. I have friends and family, a great house, nice cars, all the material things I want. My health is good and I don't have any gray hair (okay, that's courtesy of my very expensive dye jobs, the one excess my husband never complains about).
Today I am off to a book signing and lunch with a friend. Its a sunny day and perfect for the convertible. It should be a nice day.
On playing with reckless abandon
8 minutes ago