Twenty-Two

So this is 22. Sitting in our kitchen with Sophie on my lap and Marcus’s gloriously lopsided birthday cake on the counter. The candle’s been lit for ten minutes because every time I go to blow it out, Sophie makes this face that’s too perfect to interrupt.

Twenty-Two

A year ago I was a nursing student cramming for finals and thinking 22 seemed so grown up, so far away. Now I’m here with a three-month-old who depends on me for everything, wearing scrubs more than regular clothes, and somehow feeling more myself than I ever have. Marcus keeps asking what I want for my birthday and the answer is exactly this - our messy kitchen, our perfect baby, his terrible baking skills that come from the sweetest place.

The cake tastes better than it looks, by the way. Love makes everything sweeter, even when it’s slightly burned on one side and the frosting is sliding off. Twenty-two and figuring it out as we go.