In all the excitement of the past few days, I have completely forgotten to start celebrating Evan's Birthday Month. Not that every day is all ice cream and presents, but during the month of March I like people (re: Matt) to spend a little more time than usual expounding on the wonderfulness of my existence, and I feel that the same courtesy should apply to my children. I suppose it should apply to Matt, also, but it's already like EVERY DAY is his birthday around here, I tell you what.
So! November... no longer just the cold, bleak waste of time between autumn and Christmas. Last year at this time I weighed 58 more pounds than I do right now. Ethan and I did a lot of baking and decorated the house early since we had a good excuse. Matt handled all the year-end appointments with the craptastic FSA, for which I am forever grateful. Maybe being pregnant wasn't so bad after all...
Hmm, clearly I am too tired too think straight. Stay tuned for another thrilling installment tomorrrow.
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Dude, November is MY birth month, and I'm all for extra celebration. However, now I share my birthday month with others and I sort of forgot that I even have such a special day anymore. I was just like, hey, next week is my birthday. yay. joy. old.
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