31...

My BIL once said, upon turning 31 himself, that 30 was one thing. But now he was into his thirties. I'd say that's pretty accurate. Still doesn't bother me though. Just still seems rather shocking or surprising that I could actually be advancing in age when most days I feel about twelve. Same with this whole impending parenthood gig. Some days I'm like, 'They're going to just let me have a baby??? But I'm 12. 12 yr. olds shouldn't have babies.'

Anyway...it's my birthday. And it's not dismal or blustery or blizzarding outside. It's sunny and bright and not at all harshly cold. I woke up feeling refreshed rather than dragged out. In fact, I slept the whole night through pretty much, except for the requisite middle of the night trips to the loo. My hubby's present to me (well, one of them anyway) was one of those wedgie pillows for pregnant bellies. I didn't say anything, just thank you, but secretly I thought to myself, 'Um...something other than a baby item would've been nice.' Now however, after trying it out and waking up feeling half way normal, I worship him. He is the smartest and most compassionate human being I know. I had resisted this purchase myself for the last while since a) I wasn't convinced I really needed it and b) money was needed to be spent elsewhere for baby. But I suppose the tossing and turning, waking up with sore hips, cranky morning demeanour, middle of the day fatigue and retreating to the pull-out couch when all else had failed may have convinced him. Not that his sleep was ever disturbed. Like that line from Christmas Vacation, my husband could sleep through 'a dump truck driving through a nitro-glycerin plant.' He just felt pretty badly for me and wanted to help. I'm one lucky chickadee.

His other gift is a yarn swift, to be picked up at my leisure. I spied one in Mahone Bay the last time I was there, and really, just should've grabbed it then. I kept buying skeins of yarn only to get home and realize that they were just squishy, colourful, decorative twists of fibre that I could only admire until one of my comrades in yarns took pity on me and allowed me to use theirs. Which is sorta silly. I'm a serious enough yarn consumer now to justify owning a swift.

So no real plans to speak of. A massage this afternoon, dinner later this evening. Should try and get Hank out for a play. It's been a few days and he's starting to get a little squirrelly. When the weather is bad or we're busy and we can't get him out for a proper run, he eventually gets what we lovingly refer to as 'Crazy Eyes'. The next stage after Crazy Eyes is maniacal running around the coffee table in the living room until he tires himself out a bit. This is not unusual dog behavior. The Jack Russell who lives in Ontario is quite fond of this activity himself. But he's fifteen pounds. It works really well for him and there is little or no risk of grievous bodily harm either to himself or any object in his path. Hank is a different story. He's 95 pounds. He's half way around the table before he even gets going. I'm just pleased the tv hasn't toppled over yet.

Anyhoo, until later. Off to enjoy the rest of my day.