I love not telling anyone when it's my birthday--going about the most beautiful of ordinary days with a secret is one of my great pleasures in life. A secret hugged close and guarded in a small smile. I mean, its no surprise I get a kick out of this. I kept an entire pregnancy secret till the baby was born. Speaking of said baby, my birthday fell on a weekday so it was just her and I all day. We went out to lunch at the local cafe that has delicious refilling coffee and gluten free toast. Then wandered around the playground till I had to pee too badly to wait any longer and we dashed through the tree lined garden path to the library and I used her to get into the clean children's floor loo. Then home where we ate peanut butter out of the jar on the floor because, while storybookish, the cafe is much to expensive to actually fill us both up. And then Jesse came home laden with groceries and gin and made me pizza and negronis. Essentially the New York birthdays have all been full of ordinary magic. Probably because I'm exactly where I want to be. And November may just be the most beautiful month in NYC... or anywhere... actually, maybe not in LA or Florida. I turned thirty.