Today is my baby sister's 27th birthday. (27? Hmmm... is that right? Yeah. 27. I'm goin' with it.) It's a bit sobering to realize that the youngest child in the family is older than some of my friends, and also getting too old to called "the baby." I don't actually call her "the baby," nor do I think does anyone else in the family; I do call her "my baby sister." I suppose that's essentially the same thing and perhaps has been outgrown.
27 was a pretty big year for me. I began my new life at 27 and have never regretted one moment. O. K., maybe there have been some regrets, like not going to see Cheap Trick in 2000 (or was that 2001?), or getting rid of a couple of vintage dresses I thought I was over... but for the most part, it's been a good life. I was told that this was a great year, 27, ideal for big changes and something about Saturn rising. Whatever that means. All that has happened since then would not have been possible without some gigantic risks that may have been shocking to the unsuspecting, but made perfect sense to me. Looking at me now, I doubt anyone who thought they'd just seen pigs fly would disagree. At least, I would hope so. What else would they have wanted for me? Soccer mom in the 'burbs? Wearing pleated khakis and twin sets? (No offense to all you soccer moms and dads living in the 'burbs, but you understand that's just not my style.)
The baby sis is going through a lot of life changes, too, and though they may be difficult and seemingly out of character to many, I know it's going to be good. Feels like she's grown up a lot in the past six or so months. So much so that using the baby monikor just doesn't have the same weight it used to. Youngest sister is probably much more appropriate. Or, just sister. OR, my personal favorite, Paigerella.
Happy birthday, love!