Twenty-Eight

So this is 28.

Twenty-Eight

I woke up this morning and looked around our kitchen - our kitchen, in our house, with our kids’ artwork on the fridge - and realized something clicked. Maybe it was turning another year older, or maybe it was catching my reflection in the window and actually liking what I saw, but I feel like I’m finally hitting my stride.

Two kids, a mortgage, night shifts at the hospital, and I still found time to run four miles yesterday. My abs are coming in (Marcus can confirm), Sophie started first grade without crying, and Theo is walking everywhere which means I’m basically a full-time chaser now. But here’s the thing - I’m not overwhelmed anymore. I’m just… living it.

28 feels different than 27. It feels like the age where you stop apologizing for taking up space, for wanting things, for posting a photo because you like how you look in it. Marcus made me coffee this morning and said “happy birthday to the hottest homeowner I know” and you know what? He’s not wrong. I worked for this house, this body, this life. Not sorry about it.