The Cotta Family: A (big) Twenty-Eight Year Old Post

Twenty-eight. It's easy to reflect on one day or one week, but it becomes a little more tricky to reflect on a whole year. When I was a tad younger, I used to think that by twenty-five, I had to have it all figured out. For the most part, I was doing okay. Job. Check. Education. Check. Family? Not quite.

Today? I'm feeling like my twenty-eight year old self has it all.

(I'm not one to let go of my camera easily, but Philip loves snapping away pretending like he's being me - all professional and such.)

In a nutshell?

A job I love (If you can call taking photographs of gorgeous bellies, the most precious newborns and little ones, a job).

The most amazing husband in the world, who continues to surprise me every day (more of this later).

A family, in the form of the most adorable, sweet fourteen-month-old who thinks his mom and dad are just the greatest and who also thinks his belly button might walk up and leave him if he doesn't look at it every few hours.

Does twenty-eight sound old? Absolutely. But twenty-eight is treating me pretty good.

Now onto some birthday magic.

Sunday morning, Philip told me to get ready for a lunch date. Who doesn't love a weekend lunch date? I threw on my springiest dress and was ready to go. I was told we had to make a quick stop at my parent's house to pick up something. I was also told not to "dilly dally and not leave your parent's house like you always do because we have to go somewhere." Hmppphhh. So what if I love, love hanging out at my parent's house. On Saturday evening at dinner, Lindsay and I actually tried generating a plan to buy the house across the street from my parent's house so we could all live that close. It didn't go over that well with the men. Don't get me wrong, they love our parents, but I think they fear they would never see us if we lived that close. Not quite what you'd expect in a twenty-eight year old but, hey, I didn't say I was grown up. A number is just a number.

As we pulled up to my parent's house, I realized there were many cars in the driveway.... A surprise birthday brunch with my family? What could be better?

When my mom does a meal, she goes all out. The same conversation always transpires between my mom and dad before they host.

Mom: Brett, I just don't think we have enough food.

Dad: Suz, there's enough.

Mom: I just don't know if there is enough.

Dad: Ok, you're right, there's probably not enough.

My dad will say that he has been trained to agree with this statement. And he loves telling this story and my mom always listens in the background, unknowingly smiling and laughing along with the rest of us as we do a little lovingly "Mom Bashing." Did we have enough food? Oh, yes. But leftovers are quite delicious.

We were inside and outside, enjoying doing nothing at all but being with our family. I love the fact that we have this little family as well. We have sat on this little stump many times, for many pictures, but for some reason on this day, on this celebration of my (almost) twenty-eight year old self, I felt like I was on top of the world. All on this little stump. And it didn't matter that it was too bright out or that Jacob really wanted to hop off Daddy's leg to go feed the fish... it just mattered that we were all there. Family. There's nothing better than that in life.

Except maybe these giggles when Pops puts him in a tree for a picture.

Or these amazing grandparents who spoil this grandchild with love.

Or these two GREAT-grandfathers.

Or these very amazing women that ground our family and show us how to be a good momma (and grandmomma).

Or these very handsome men that would do anything for each other.

Or getting sung happy birthday to on your twenty-eighth birthday and still making a wish (which may or may not have something to do with Philip's guess of baby girl to come).

Family. Every day should be a celebration. Every day should be this good. (And it is).

And everyday should be as sweet as these goodies that Pops just had to feed Jacob. For what's a birthday without a few treats?

The icing on the cake? Oh, Philip gave it to me. Philip called me upstairs and told me to go get ready for my last surprise. I walked in to this:

Sunday night baseball? He's my hero. Icing on the cake, Philip. We cheered. We relaxed. We inhaled that sweet Busch Stadium scent of hotdogs, nachos, and the greatest baseball fans in the world. Even the great Pujols himself.