I spent five hours on a bus covered in vomit. Life is glamourous, no?
Pete and I decided to go to visit my sister's family in Boston for Thanksgiving and we left on my birthday. (We still lived in NYC at the time, remember?) Of course the traffic leaving the city was horrendous. And, of course, my baby got carsick. Poor babe was fussy and unsettled. She kept going back and forth between Pete and me and then finally settled down long enough to throw up all over me. I was able to step into the nasty little horror of a WC at the back of the bus and get both Georgia and myself cleaned up, but it was only a matter of a few minutes before she repeated the performance and I was out of options for clean clothes.
Georgia felt much better and spent the rest of the journey snoozing peacefully on her daddy's lap wearing nothing but her raincoat and a diaper. I pulled my coat on over the smelly mess on my chest and cracked open the window.
It wasn't the best beginning to a birthday celebration I've ever had. But when we arrived at Sharon's house my sisters surprised me with a party and Pete had secretly made me a cake. Lovely Mexican food and balloons everywhere.
I really was happy about my party and cake, I promise. This is just what happens when someone else is in charge of taking the pictures.
So now I'm 30. It feels good. I'm more comfortable with myself, my talents, abilities, personality and purpose than I've ever been. I'm pretty sure that this is my prime decade. Life is better than ever and I'm loving the adventure.