(This is 34) The Year of Changes: My hair is falling out. I smell like an old Italian man. I barely wear a bra anymore. My boobs leak. My c-section scar is still totally funky. I have a huge swath across my belly that doesn't feel a thing. I sweat like crazy. I eat like crazy. I get this rage build up that literally makes me burn and itch if I don't get it out. I scream into pillows. My tolerance for surface conversation is terrible. My attention span is even worse. I talk to myself about myself. I crave garlic and meat. I like soup. My weekly fun is the Y-- walking the track, going for a row, and taking a steam. I make Bea watch Sesame Street so I can watch Sesame Street. I cry about damn near everything. I shit with the door open. I go to bed around 10.

And this week I was given the best Birthday gift: Bea's cracking up at my tears. On so many levels 🙏 it's just fucking perfection. That's you baby! Turning all of those tears into promise and hope and love and life.

I would have changed everything about me to find you, but you love me as I am. Warts, farts, and all.

So this is the best Birthday of my life and I didn't do a damn thing but be myself.