27, almost

I turn 27 in less than a month. I don’t feel almost 27. Growing up, 27 always seemed so old. The official birthday that moves me from mid-twenties to late twenties. Now, it feel surprisingly young and normal. Just another year. I still even get carded at restaurants.

This just isn’t how I planned on 27 going down. At 27, I was going to have been married at least 4 years, have one small child, know how to cook (and do so on a semi-regular basis), and have traveled to Europe.

The real 27 is being married for almost one year, no child (although a bit of a pregnancy scare over Christmas), a highly spoiled and untrustworthy dog who likes to pee in my closet, a “fend for yourself” dinner mentality which I constantly feel guilty about, and no trip to Europe in the old scrapbooks (my little sister’s been twice now, so if she schedules another trip over there, I’ve decided I’m going to book a weekend trip just to avoid a “three times a bridesmaid…” mentality)

It’s not that I would change any of my life experiences so far. It just seems a little surreal how quickly my 20’s have passed. Blip. There they go