expectations and the wreck they havoc

It's my birthday this week.

Not just my birthday, but my GOLDEN BIRTHDAY.

Yup, that's right. I turn 29 on the 29th.

I remember being a little girl, and hearing about golden birthdays for the first time. My brain really likes doubles like that, numerically speaking, so it became a big thing to me. Buuuuuut it was FOREVER away. Like years and years away.

And now it's not. It's only days away. And so I want it to be a big deal. I want it to be a big thing. It's a once in a lifetime thing. I'll have big decade birthdays, well, once a decade. But a golden birthday? I only get one shot.

It should be a day speckled with light, and love, and laughter, and that should Instagram perfectly (if I had Instagram), and I should be wearing an outfit that makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, and everything should fall into place, and it should be suffused with this wonderful glowy light so it looks just like all those pictures you see on Pinterest of perfect days and perfect moments.

Sigh.

Poor, poor Luke.

But that's not real life is it? My birthday is during the week, so my husband will have to go to work, meaning I'll be home with the kids. I'll still have to feed them, and me. I will have to wash the dishes, do the laundry, change diapers, and keep children alive, for pete's sake! (well, not really for Pete. but, since he is my brother, I'm sure he would like his nephews to keep on keeping on).

We don't have anything in our life that looks like the pictures. No table sitting under the trees lit with Christmas lights, and canning jar lanterns, surrounded by beautifully and perfectly done decorations. A meal that just happens to take place during that perfectly glowy part of the evening when everything is soft and magnificent.

We don't live anywhere close to a city that has the 'it' place to be for dinner, where we can get dressed up in our finest pearls and suits, and head out for a night of drinks and dinner. Then someone can take a picture of me laughing, slightly blurry because I am moving with joy over the fact that someone set a plate of food down in front of me (that's why they're always so joyous in those pictures isn't it?).

It's not winter so I can't be bombing down a mountain wearing the perfect combination of warm clothes that are cutely adorable while my cheeks glow and my hair magically becomes long, flowing, and curly.

My life isn't a photo op. And it's a hard thing to reconcile.

Expectations really aren't your friend are they?