I was born about 6 weeks premature… so technically, my body is 6 weeks younger than most 28 year olds. I propose, that from now on, people’s age be determined by the day they were SUPPOSED to be born on – or, simply 40 weeks after the date they were conceived. OK, so that makes no sense at all – yes, I’m an idiot.

Today has been tough for me. Everyone knows that I am severely allergic to change, and yes, I am fully aware that in about 2 weeks, when baby Asher finally arrives, life as I know it will never be the same again. I can nostalgically say goodbye to all those late night movies and concerts. I can bid adieu to any notion of peaceful sleep. I can cover the collective face of profane music with a fluffy pillow till it slowly suffocates and dies. All of these things will be will be lost in time, like tears in the rain…

For some stupid reason, I’ve convinced myself that turning 28 is a huge-normous turning point in my life. The intelligent (yet very small) part of my brain is frantically trying to assure me that what I’m feeling has absolutely nothing to do with my birthday, and everything to do with having a son… So why am I culminating all my fears at once, in a single day, when I’ve had 9 months to think about it?

As hard as it is for my brain to say goodbye to my beloved everyday routines, my heart knows that it’s SO worth it… Looking into Asher’s eyes for the first time will be the single greatest moment of my life.