About six months ago, Bug got into the habit of yelling this nonsensical phrase “Thirt-dee-DEE!” randomly throughout the house. Sometimes he said it to call me, sometimes he said it to call Lorso, sometimes he was just in his Happy Place and would sing song it while he played. It never ever failed to make me laugh. Something about the way he said it was so Alice In Wonderland/Looney Tunes/My Crazy Random Kid at His Best. Thirt-dee-DEE! Thirt-dee-DEE! (The emphasis on the last dee being the crucial bit.)

Thirt-dee-DEE has been retired for a while now though, and we’ve moved on to SILLY GOOSE and the ever popular BONKY, but lately, i.e. this weekend, I’ve really wished he’d conjure up that oldie but goodie one last time for me. Maybe then I could find a little bit of levity in the sound of Thirt and Dee.

Because today I turn thirty.

If you had asked me oh, six years or so ago what I might wish my thirtieth birthday to be like, I’m pretty sure I would have said 1. BIG PARTY and 2. LOTS OF DRINKING. Here’s what I would not have said: 1. BIG BELLY and 2. LOTS OF SNOT. I really think that when I saw that plus sign on the pregnancy test this year, one of the first things I thought was “Great, now I’ll have to party down with O’Douls for my thirtieth birthday.” This of course was after 1. Holy Shit I’m pregnant? and 2. Holy Shit I’m Pregnant! (followed by some happy type thoughts also, cross my heart.)

But no, for real, my thirtieth birthday has been on my mind for a long time. It seems like the biggest milestone birthday I’ve had yet – bigger than 18 (Legal: Lottery tickets! Voting! Jail!) bigger than 21 (Legal: Wine coolers! Coronitas!) bigger even than 25 (Legal: saving $10 on my car insurance!). I’m not even really able to pinpoint why exactly it seems so huge to me. It just does.

I think I also had the thought that being a jillion months pregnant might actually be a boon for a thirtieth birthday because it would distract me from any and all doom and gloom thoughts I might have on the subject. However. I did not really think about the fact that I would need something to distract me from BEING A JILLION MONTHS PREGNANT. Hey, I know, how about the fact that I’m turning thirty? NOOOOOOOBLEEEARGHHHH.

See how this is not working?

So here is how I am solving the problem: I am asking you, Internet, to deliver to me today on my birthday any and all distractions from 1. being a jillion months pregnant and 2. turning thirty. I will consider this the best of gifts. Tell me a funny story! A dirty joke! Your deepest darkest secret! What you had for lunch! Your grandmother’s middle name! Send me YouTube links! Recipes! (Ok, NOT recipes. They’re not really my bag. I got carried away.)

But you get the drift. Any and all randomness will be read and appreciated. And possibly even responded too – something I am not great at on a regular day. The wackier the better.

And I hope that you, whomever you are, wherever you are, and however old you are have a glorious September 8th. You didn’t know how monumental this day thirty years ago was, did you?

Well now you do.