This past week I discovered a wisdom tooth rearing it's ugly head in the back of my mouth. When I realized this tooth was erupting, I freaked out a little, but not really for the reasons you would think. Sure having wisdom teeth removed is kind of a drag. I had one pulled a few years ago. It wasn't particularly fun. Additionally, having to potentially undergo oral surgery complete with its sedatives and pain killers while nursing a baby seems like it would have its additional obstacles. But here is what really bothered me. I found that exposed little bit of tooth and I got pissed. I got pissed because every dentist I have seen for the past 5 years or so has gotten progressively more and more confident that my upper wisdom teeth will never come in. Why? Because generally if they don't come in by 27 years of age they just never show up and I am almost........oh shit........I am almost 30. I'll turn 30 in six months, if you want to be specific.
Now anyone that knows me can vouch for the fact that I am generally not a big birthday person. It's not that I believe they aren't important. I just have a hard time remembering them and I don't particularly like the idea of arbitrarily drawing attention to myself. But this is 30. This is the first big milestone birthday that just marks you getting older without any additional privileges. I can already drive, vote, drink and rent a car.
Conveniently, my husband and I both have spring birthdays that we can celebrate together so right away I started mentally outlining a whole weekend full of poor decisions and general debauchery worthy of saying au revoir to my twenties. But wait. We have kid.....
We could find a sitter.
So one night. One night, and one night only of poor decisions and general debauchery!
But lets face it. After about 9 months of no drinking and the extra months of limiting and monitoring any alcohol I drink due to nursing, I have become a cheap date. And Nick has been coaching at a Crossfit gym, competing with said gym and therefore eating like an athlete. So by default he has been living it up about as infrequently as I have.
So, 3 drinks and in bed by 11pm!
But I am hopeful. Thus far every time I have anticipated my life taking a course toward being a little boring or feeling like I might be restricted to home and routine, I have been proved quite wrong.
So fingers crossed, here's to 30 (and fewer hangovers).