So, in the interest of not getting either of us arrested (and since she gave me a key to her new house, but not the alarm code...), I guess I will have to trade in chocolate-covered break-ins for one of those traditional birthday letters SJ and I have become so good at.
So, SJ, this is it. The last birthday either of us gets to celebrate without kids to distract us from the partying that should go on not only on our birthdays, but whenever we feel like it. Somehow, I have a feeling that your best gift next year won't be a blog post from little ol' me, but the fingerprint-covered card that gets handed to you by a drooling, grinning kiddo. But that's how it should be.
What a year this has been. You moved, I painted, I got knocked up, you got knocked up, J painted... I think that about sums it up. But it leaves out the important parts, like our "Pregnant Woman Support Group" on Thursday when we made fruity "mocktails" and talked about symptoms that probably would have had our husbands abandon us if they had ever heard about them. Or the Saturdays spent going to tag sales and spending hours in the car talking about everything from what life was like to what it's going to be like later this year. Or the many, many hours of dinners and Setback now that we live only 4.2 miles apart.
It's been quite the journey, SJ. From poor reporters at a local newspaper (one of us who wore clothing with funny patterns and the other a snob who "knew" she could never be friends with someone who dressed like that) spending Friday and Saturday nights hanging out at bars (you were dating and then engaged, but never had a problem being my wing man), to moms-to-be who consider it a wild night out when the Setback games last beyond 10 p.m. I have a feeling that self-imposed curfew is going to be getting even earlier, but I'm not worried. We'll just have to pack the fun into a shorter amount of time.
And it has been fun. I can't imagine what my late twenties and early thirties would have looked like without you in them to listen to me, to keep me grounded, to cry with me, to make me laugh time and time again, to tell me when I'm wrong, to understand what I'm going through, to be such a good friend you went and got knocked up so I would have someone to go through pregnancy with and to always be willing to help me finish the extra ice cream in my freezer.
Speaking of which, when are we going out for ice cream to celebrate? Happy Birthday, SJ!