My 30th birthday is 54 days away. But who’s counting? I’m gonna have a party. You’re all invited.

I’ve been trying to lose some extra pounds because after this is baby talk and this could be the last year I recognize myself sans clothes. “Trying” is a bit of stretch. Really, I just hope they lose me.

So I’m failing at getting me ready but trying to get party ready. Things are moving along and I already ordered these cocktail napkins. And that’s about it. No music, no food, but I’ve got cocktail napkins. Actually I don’t even have them. They’ve only been ordered.

Even my inspiration is a little uninspiring.

You’re meaning me.

I don’t necessarily want cake pops but I do like the idea of putting gold flakes on something. Maybe a cake.

And this is just for me to get me feeling better about the age I’m turning.

Every time I read this I feel like crying. Not because I think it’s touching but because I’m trying really hard to believe it.

Any women out there cope okay with entering into the new age bracket?

Happy Monday!

images via geronimo balloons, sweetapolita