Tomorrow is my 26th birthday. I’ve found that sharing my birthday with New Year’s Eve has been much like a roller coaster, filled with dips and climbs, rushes and lulls.

When I was younger, my birthday parties were always some of the best around, but having the party on December 31st was out of the question. Parents always had plans, vacations were extended, unexpected snow storms closed the roads. School was always closed so class parties happened before, or in the new year. As I got older, friends would gather in my living room for sleepovers, pizza boxes and empty soda bottles littering the floor as we counted down the final seconds of the year.

In college, our beach house became party central — filled with friends and friends of friends toasting with cheap champagne punch sloshing over the side of party cups. I even had my very own special birthday glass, lovingly decorated by my roommate for my 21st.

Post-college, but pre-grown up life, my birthday was found in crowed bars and tables full of drinks with friends crowded around. And now, things are slowly starting to change.

Friends no longer want to make the trip. Others choose dinner parties over bar stools and plans that don’t include old married couples. As I explained to one friend last night, I’m not angry. I realize that as we get older birthdays become less important and I can’t blame them for wanting to go where they will have the most fun.

But sometimes sharing my birthday with a night were everyone in the world is celebrating isn’t so fun after all…when they don’t want to celebrate with you. I suppose that even at 26, growing pains still exist.

I’m not throwing myself a pity party. Quite the opposite. I figure if nothing else, I’ve got this handsome husband I can snuggle up on the couch with, eat some cake and toast the new year and our future together.

I also just bought myself some new bras, and really, what’s more supportive than that?

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