I am 28 years old today.
The Blogger logo has a piece of birthday cake with a candle on it today. Do we share a birthday?
That sounds pretty lucky.
I hope it is.
I am having one of those days where it is hard to even force a fake smile.
I have got to do something to get myself happy. I guess first I have to figure out what that is. I need to find me. I used to know who I was. I used to have an identity.
Brooklyn is the only thing in my life that makes me happy anymore. She is the only wonderful, beautiful, bright, sunny spot in a world of gray. And that means that when she is unhappy, even when it is just grumpy/whiny/sleepy/frustrated typical toddler unhappiness, I am miserable. I feel like a horrible mother, a horrible person when she is not blissfully happy. I feel like curling into a little ball and disappearing. Really, I just want to go to sleep when it's like that (when Dave's home, obviously), but I already feel so guilty about missing out on spending time with my Baby Bear.
There is so much more to this, but it doesn't belong in this post. Most of this really didn't either, but oh well.
I hate being like this.
28 has to get better.
I want a happy birthday. I want a happy 28.
And I close my eyes and wish.