29 and holding

Mom and me on my 1st birthday, 1982

It's here. Finally. The first day of my last year in my 20s. Only 365 days left before I'm "old."

Although, I have been married for more than six years and have two kids, so people probably started putting me in that category awhile ago.

I plan on fighting it tooth and nail.

I am on gray hair watch. The first sign of a stray hair, and I will be at the hairdresser faster than ants on a picnic. My aunt was going gray by 18, so really, I'm doing pretty good.

The women in my family are notorious for many things, the least of which is conveniently forgetting their age. My mother was 29 until the day she died. She was a little harder to believe since she didn't have me until she was 33, but that's beside the point. My aunt would most definitely NOT say her actual age if you asked her. Nana doesn't remember.

That works for me.

So this will be the FIRST year I turn 29, but not the last. Gives me an excuse to party hard every year, right?