Happy birthday, preggie!

Today marks my 27th year of life, 27!! Every item in my house seems to be rejoicing this morning, including my stuffed toys. Me? I just feel sleepy and flu-ey, as I did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that...

This year must be the most comatose and morose birthday I've ever had. Waking up sniffing to bottoms that no longer fit, dull jet-black hair and an eye-ring laden face, people might just think I'm on dope. To put things into perspective, a glance at my birthday polaroids taken last year placed so strategically on my fridge door serves to remind me of my glorious days past. I've lost it - every piece of clothing on me now just screams 'Auntie!' and I'm seriously bogged by lethargy to put makeup on my face unless I'm heading to town or meeting unsuspecting extended family. As positive as I am now, there's a part of me that understandingly, feels upset.

What perked me up were the well-wishing smses I received... at least I'm still the same ole' Maril in their eyes, dowdy-looking or not. But I've become increasingly anti-social as well. A call is good enough, no need to meet up. Gone are the days when I would pack my schedule a week in advance. Now I just hide behind my laptop, typing emails, and typing blogs as a way to communicate with those that matter. 'Just have to give it some time', I tell myself. In another year's time I'll have more polaroids on the fridge door, of us once more with the Rive chocolate cake and my armful of stuffed toys, plus the additional bubbly kid. I'll be radiant once more, and would never have been more happy and fulfilled.

Now that's a real birthday wish!

Happy birthday, preggie!