The day I turned twenty-old

Yesterday was my 27th birthday.

I don’t usually have an issue with the whole ‘getting on’ thing, I mean, I already have a child so I’m pretty old by my standards.

But this year I felt it a bit.

(Can I still claim I am in my mid-twenties or have I moved up to the late twenties now?)

Sam took the day off work. I spent my last birthday going to baby groups with Arlo and doing nothing special to mark the occasion, so it was nice to spend some time with both of my boys this time round. It was actually a pretty perfect day.

Sam cooked me salmon and scrambled egg for breakfast (even though he eats neither fish or egg).

We spent the morning at one of Arlo’s groups, where Sam got a glimpse into my day-to-day life  – sitting in a circle singing songs with a load of mums. Arlo was clearly excited to have his dad there for his class, which was lovely to see.

Then, Arlo went off with Grandma so that Sam and I could enjoy a baby-free lunch date.

My one request was that we go somewhere that we would never think of taking Arlo. Sam hit the nail on the head with his choice of restaurant. A tapas place on Goodge Street – lovely wine, great setting, amazing food, and definitely not child friendly.

We had a brief drink in the pub and then headed to Oxford Street to have a look at the boots I’ve been coveting for a while now. In an amazing stroke of luck, we discovered that they had just gone on sale at 1/3 off. So, obviously sam was meant to buy them as my present. I am now the proud owner of a proper pair of shoes without holes in.

After that, we had afternoon tea at a little cafe by Chancery Lane. Tea and cakes, two of my favourite things.

Then it was back home to meet Arlo, fast forward the bed time routine and ship him off to bed so that I could watch crap TV that I’m not usually permitted to watch, and Sam could watch the football. We ignored each other like this all evening.

Perfect.