Birthdays and Babies

This is my beautiful pal Ashley.
She is one of my friends that I haven't yet given a nickname.
It will come in time though. I promise.

Can you guess how old she is?
Guess quickly though, because I am going to tell you in the next sentence or so.
(Don't be mad, Ashley).
She turned 30 the other day.
That makes me feel old.
I have friends that are 30 years old. Weird.
And the only reason that makes me feel old is because that means I am almost 30. I never thought I'd get to 30. Heck, I feel like I just graduated from high school.
I digress.



We had a little "it's your birthday" get-together.
These days, when you are approaching 30, 30 years old and 30+, get-togethers include the kiddies.

There were little babes and bottles.

And this little sir. Those blue eyes get me every time. He just stares at you. And if he smiles...? Consider your life OVER.

And if I ever decide to have another child and it happens to be a boy, can he have curls like this? Please? And I might not cut his hair. Ever.  Would you believe me if I told you this little stud is a triplet? Help me Ronda. Now.

She's such a pretty gal.
Of course, the rockstar gave an amazing operatic rendition of Happy Birthday To You before the candles were blown out.

This picture....oh, I was so close.
The rockstar doesn't really hold babies. Ever. Not because he doesn't like them, he just considers them to be very fragile, precious little things and he leaves the "holding" job to the actual parents.  My dearest Ashley decides to hand her four month old to the rockstar. He had no say in it.
"Here, hold my baby for a sec," she says.
"Ok," he says.
"He's holding a baby!!" I say.

I run like the wind and grab my camera.
There won't be much time.

I aim.
Almost have it.

I shoot.
And at that SAME exact second, this big giant hand (Ashley's husband, to be exact) flies right in front of the way as I'm attempting to capture this rare moment in history.

But before I know it, the baby has already been passed on to another person and the moment is over.
So close.

And no 30th birthday is complete without a brave friend removing a giant splinter from the birthday girl's foot. She's my good buddy ol' pal ol' buddy, but I don't know if I could have attempted a splinter removal.

Cook her dinner?
Sure.
Babysit her kids?
Absolutely.
Splinter removal??
I gotta work up to that one.
Some friends are just better, I guess.


Happy 30th, old lady.
And by OLD, I mean AWESOME.