On Saturday, I turned twenty-five, on one of the least climactic birthdays I’ve ever celebrated. For a girl who indulges in month-long April celebrations, this year’s birthday was overshadowed by a certain upcoming birthday, so this month is full of baby showers, not birthday dinners. Let’s face it: twenty-five isn’t all that impressive when set alongside “brand new.”
Don’t get me wrong, though, my birthday was wonderful, one of the best I’ve had in a long time. There was the sleeping in, the lunch in Fairhaven, the sunny weather, the afternoon at yoga with Mitch, the fire in the backyard at my mom’s, the surprise visit from my brother and the ice cream sundaes. It was a small celebration but a lovely one, and just one like that is worth a week of birthday dinners, I’ll admit.