On Wednesday I turned 34. My niece, Lily, spent the day with us and wished me “happy birthday” no fewer than ten times. She also sang a darling two-year-old rendition of the birthday song at least twice at dinner.

Lily and I don’t know each other very well—Sam and I have lived in Kazakhstan nearly her entire life—but today she told me that she likes me; that we’re friends. That’s good stuff for this momma-to-be. (I’ll admit that I’m under her spell: it is heart-meltingly cute when she reaches up to gently pat my huge belly and says, “baby.”)

Another Wednesday milestone: “baby” hit the 35 week mark. Not long now. And, for the first time ever, I have a sense of why birthdays are so important for parents, too—what a monumentally life-changing day!

I won’t reach my 250-word goal this week. Instead, I tried to capture my (quiet, mostly uneventful) birthday at home—the first with my parents in…ten? Maybe fifteen years? Even 34 years on, it’s still a special day for them.

Throwback: birthday waffles! But it turns out teflon doesn’t last forever…

“Small Elmo” (Lily also has a “Big Elmo”) isn’t pleased about peas.

My mom and I, relaxing by the pool.

Lilyswing.

It took some doing, but Lexi finally warmed up to me. (Sam is still working on earning her trust.)

Lily, pre-pool.

Little people. With two dogs. At the table.