It's the day after my 30th birthday, and our downstairs is filled with balloons and a rainbow of confetti, with crumpled tissue paper and cake crumbs and empty champagne glasses and paper plates. I can't quite bear to clean it all up just yet. For now I'm just going to sit with this gratitude for my silly, pretty, generous friends and family and for love that sustains me, for a magical dinner party on a cool fall night and a gigantic birthday cake iced with cream cheese frosting, for laughter in my kitchen and hands pressed lovingly against my belly. Another thing for which I'm grateful: When you're pregnant, there's no post-birthday hangover to haunt you. Only confetti. And cake.
