A best friend is like a bra….


Welcoming my 27th year this month has been magical and has left me feeling so loved and lucky. I had most of my original birthday blog post written and ready to post before I picked my best friend of fifteen years up from the airport this morning. Then she gifted me with a $50 Victoria Secret gift card paired with a sweet note comparing me to the perfect bra. I should note now that she knows I have a tendency for buying bargain everything. I’ve been this way since I was a kid. Even now as a grown-up with a full-time job, I just love the thrill of a good buy. Meg knows I would never buy a fifty dollar bra on my own. I should also note, if it’s not already obvious, that I have very small boobs. So when I recently went into a department store and found a set of bras for a great price with the label ‘large’ and THEY FIT, I knew I had to buy them. I walked out happy and with a slight ego boost from my purchase. When I got home, I finally realized what had just happened. I had bought large CHILDREN’S sized bras. That fit perfectly. Goodbye ego trip. I swallowed my pride and still wear those bras to this day.


This is where Meg comes in to save the day with the gift card and note comparing me to the ideal bra. I’m going to share that note now, paired with snapshots from my birthday month that make me feel incredibly grateful.


“Happy Birthday Tina Wina!

I got you this gift card to Victoria’s Secret, not only because I know you’ll never leave the junior’s section for bras on your own, but because I think it’s a befitting gift for you because it represents our friendship in so many ways!



There’s a cliché expression that a best friend is like a bra– supportive, reliable, all those great things. That describes you. But you are far more complex than that. Plus, we don’t really need much support because we’re such long-standing, proud members of the itty bitty titty committee (althought you took about a 9-month sabbatical during your pregnancy. I forgive you by the way.) So the explanation doesn’t really fit us. In honor of an age of being offended, I take offense that we do not have a cliché bra metaphor that perfectly describes our friendship as women with small breasts. #smallboobsmatter


So I’ve come up with an explanation that fits your uniqueness and lets us use the bra metaphor.


You’re like my best bra. Really, my dream bra because, although I’ve found a friend like this in you, I don’t think I’ve found a bra like this. Picture this: I walk into Victoria’s Secret; I’m immediately intimidated by all of the voluptuous ‘Kim K. types’ clearly more fit to be shopping there. I, of course, head straight to the clearance section expecting to find a bra that is under $20, practical, but probably an ugly shade of green. This is worth it because it fits me and makes my boobs appear larger than they are. Suddenly, my eyes are drawn to a 32B bra hanging on the rack. It is glowing among the other 32DD bras that are left over since all the other skinny girls have sucked the sales rack dry. It is bright, it is vibrant, I don’t even have to worry about buying matching panties because it has so many colors it will match with everything I already have (not that I usually match my bra and panties, but if I shop at VS I’m clearly expecting company so maybe I’d step up my game for the night.) I don’t have to change or add a thing about what I already own! I try on the bra and it’s a perfect fit! If my boobs were saggy, it would be supportive, which is comforting to know, but this isn’t the case at 24 so it’s just extremely uplifting! Suddenly my boobs look and feel better than ever before! I’m ready to hit the town and take on any and all adventures; adventures I wouldn’t explore without this bra helping me feel comfortable and my best. It makes me feel more myself than I do with other bras! It’s uplifting, vibrant, exciting and adventurous. And the best thing? It expects hardly anything in return except for a little bit of money, a little fun, (because this is not the type of bra you don’t take advantage of how it makes you feel) and only red wine because it’s just not a white wine type of bra. The wine thing is probably the biggest downfall, but I drink wine most often without a bra on anyway so I don’t care too much.



LOVE YOU! Thanks for being my best friend for 15 years.


Meggie Moo.

P.S. Don’t share this on social media though I know you might want to– alongside a picture of the gift card and maybe a TBT picture of us– because someone might get offended that I said #smallboobsmatter and talked about being skinny vs. voluptuous.”


We decided that sharing to my blog was okay, by the way. I would like to take a brief moment to clarify that Meg is amongst the most unoffensive of people that I know, and that our sense of humor is just clearly very strange.


This life I share with the people who love me is just the very breast.


Happy Birthday, You.

He loves Star Wars and The Goonies, but Back to the Future is his favorite. Parts 1, 2, and 3.

He is silly, and incredibly selfless and his big smile never stops turning my heart to goo.


(Ice-skating, January 2015)

I married him at 20 and I married him again renewing vows at 25. I hope to marry him again, and again, and again.

Our daughter can’t fully understand yet how very lucky she is to have him, but I know that she will. He would hang the moon for that little girl, and watching them together is nothing short of breathtaking.

Today he turns thirty-two. He was my age when we first locked eyes at a party in 2008. That first night was spent bantering and juicing a cantaloupe. The first thing we ever had together was fun.


(My heart melts for the billionth time, February 2015)

Nearly seven years together, and still he showers me with affection, kisses and surprise candy bars. Still he never fails to tell me how much he loves me or to let me know he thinks I’m, in his words, “ravishing.” Still my safest place to rest is nuzzled right next to him. Still, one of the greatest things we share is so much fun.

Happy 32nd to the man who has proven to me that love really can be all it’s cracked up to be. You’re my Han Solo, my ancient pirate treasure, and my DeLorean, all rolled into one.

Five Birthdays Later


In searching for the perfect mini-vacation for my 25th birthday, I wanted something far enough out to feel like a nice retreat, but close enough to drive home if, uh, I went into labor. I am only a little over three weeks from my due date now, so things like this must be considered. I had just found a quaint and romantic bed and breakfast in San Antonio–only an hour and a half drive from Austin–when I realized something. Husband had also taken me to San Antonio for my 20th birthday. We’d been dating for about nine months at the time and had just recently gotten engaged. It was my first romantic getaway with a boy and my twenty-year-old self thought that was, like, super cool. Since then, we’ve been fortunate enough to go on many vacations and make hundreds of wonderful travel-filled memories together. Still, I look back on that first little trip of ours and can’t help but be filled with the happiest of nostalgia. Five birthdays later, it just seemed right to go back to the place where all of our incredible travel adventures together first began.





The Luxury. Delicious and eccentric food trailer–with a toy hippo to play with as you wait for your food! My kind of joint.:


Boat tour of the River Walk:


We found carnival rides at a giant flea market! This one was sort of like a knock-off ferris wheel:


We also found this lovely concoction of a dress:


Breakfast at The Guenther House.:


Currently, my favorite thing to wear is sweatpants and anything else that does a decent job of stretching. I was a little bit hesitant to try the little black outfit thing for date night at nine months pregnant, but shoot. About to give birth and all, I felt pretty darn sexy in that little black get-up.





And five years later, he is still my very favorite partner in crime.



Yesterday was my actual 25th birthday. Robby wrote me a note. I got permission to share.


‘Happy birthday dearwife. I Love you so much & you are the best wife/friend/mother anyone could ask for. I know you will do just fine with labor cause you’re awesome at everything you take on & now that you’re 25 you will be able to handle it better than a 24 year old. I got you some tums so you don’t have to die. Love Robby”

I am so very lucky to have spent five birthdays with that boy.

Thirty-One Years And The Passing Of ‘Team Robby.’


Thursday my husband turned thirty-one. I feel pretty fortunate to have spent nearly six of those thirty-one years with him. When we met, Robby was newly twenty-five. He was coming out of a party phase so intense that I have heard these days referred to by his friends as the “Team Robby” days. From what I’ve been told, I met him at the ideal moment—Even party-animal, nineteen-year-old Christina would have had a hard time keeping up with this Team Robby they speak of. I like to think that I contributed to his growing up, and while I do think we were a good match, realistically I also believe that great timing played a big part. He who was never able to handle a job or relationship for more than a few months time has now been with the same company for over six years and in the same relationship for almost as long. That night we first locked eyes, at a party in a garage filled with too many Jell-O shots, he tells me now that he knew then he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. This is when the psychology portion of my degree comes out and I proceed to tell him that this is just his hindsight bias talking. (I’m such a romantic, y’all.) Though his sweet words never fail to make me swoon, it seems more plausible that we met at a time when he was just ready for more than he had ever been before. But Robby is the ‘Love at first sight’ mentality to my ‘Timing is everything’ frame of mind. I think our different life perspectives is part of what makes us such a great team today.


(Dating, 2008)

This isn’t to say we didn’t have crazy days of our own. When we first started dating, we partied a lot. We probably drank too much. We moved in together too soon. We fought frequently. As good as we have it now, I forget that it wasn’t always rainbows and butterflies with the two of us. I once threw an ironing board at his head. Looking back, it’s amazing to me that we made it past those very early days. Even more incredible that fighting is now such a rarity, and most definitely doesn’t include the throwing of ironing boards. (Or anything, ever, for that matter.) Being each of the other’s first very serious relationship, neither of us had the slightest idea what we were doing. Both of us made it up as we went along. And now, somehow, here we are.


(Engaged, 2009)


(Wedding day, 2009)

Countless adventures, travels, parties and shared life experiences later. In the living room. As I blog, Robby is working on his aquarium, which was recently moved out of his former office to make room for baby. I’m more than 30 weeks pregnant now, and little lady is quite the active thing–Currently one of her favorite pastimes is kicking my ribs. Or bladder. Judging by the strength of said kicks, I have a feeling she’s going to have more of the Boudreaux thighs and less of the Cirotto chicken legs. We had a detailed ultrasound this past Monday in which we were able to see her adorable face and find out that she weighs approximately 3 pounds, 6 ounces. I find it both crazy and fascinating that I am carrying around almost three and a half pounds of a mini Robby-Christina. The doctor said she was gorgeous and perfect and that we were the easiest ultrasound he’d had all day. He may say this to all of his patients, but beaming parents that we are, both of us ate it up.


(Honeymoon-Cancun, Mexico-2009)


(‘Babymoon’-Venice, Italy- 2014)

Team Robby was years ago replaced with a dude who would rather stay up late to tackle projects around the house, the guy who now cheerfully works overtime and comes home for cuddles-on-the-couch time, the fellow who can melt my heart simply by smiling at me or by loudly speaking to my stomach, “HELLO BRYNLEE!”, the father-to-be who gave up drinking in support of (and much less mournfully than) his expecting wife.



Who can really know for sure? Maybe it was a meant-to-be-love-at-first-sight sort of deal that late May night, years ago. Or maybe it was a mix of instant attraction and perfect timing. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Because here we are. Coming home from a picnic in the park on a beautiful February afternoon. Getting very close to meeting the small fry in my stomach. Preparing to bring a new life into the world as we celebrate the thirty-first year of the best dude I’ve ever had the chance to know. He totally never deserved to have an ironing board thrown at his face. (I missed, if you’re wondering.)