Nobody puts baillee in the corner

Or to be Gilmore Girls PC, Lane Van Gerbig.

Holy moly, lady. We’re getting old. You’ve got a beautiful family, and I’ve got a beautiful coffee mug collection. You’re about to make a life commitment, and I took a solid 15 minutes deciding which sweatshirt to wear to work tomorrow, only to know I’ll change my mind in the morning. Regardless, we’re growing up (seeing as how it used to take me 30 minutes and multiple wardrobe changes in the morning). You’ve been my main chick for about 15 years now, so we’re common law married, but I’ll let this guy join the mix so that we can all officially start our lives together. After the worst preface in the world, I want to start one of my gifts to you: a post to the blog you read dedicated to you.

Fifteen years ago, I would have never dreamed we would be where we were. (Then again, the hardest thing in my life was debating between a tie-dye Powerpuff Girls shirt and a tie-dye Looney Toons shirt). We were both enrolled at the same summer reading program at our hometown’s public library sponsored by our hometown’s local newspaper (see, our hometown did something right). I THINK (and this is a huge THINK) we first bonded because we read the same book and went to CiCi’s together. Regardless, I never dreamed you would be my ride or die. But you were.

You were the one person I could always count on to hang out with during honor roll bounce house and water slide parties. You survived many a trip to Claire’s with me. You slept on the floor next to me at many a birthday sleep over. You were there for me during the days of awful math teachers and all-around middle school awkwardness. You were there when my old allegedly best friend told everyone I was weird and was in love with her in the seventh grade. You were there throughout every high school pool party and life crisis. You helped me get over a million different boys. You made me realize when I was being a drama queen. You were there during my blonde pixie phase. You were there when no one else was.

You checked in on me at college. You always made sure everything was okay. You never said I was stupid for any of my reckless decisions. You were there during the dark days of sophomore year. You encouraged me to keep going. You blessed me with the honor of being an aunt to the sweetest little boy in the whole world (even though he doesn’t always act like it). You all but scraped me up off the concrete senior year. You let me call you at 4AM to cry about a stupid boy (aka boys). You told me I could make it. You told me to stay 140 miles away because you knew it made me happy.

You told me it would all work out and to quit the job I hated. You made me an aunt again to one of the two sweetest little girls in the whole world (the second may not be here yet, but I already know she’s just as perfect as her sister). You helped me through my drinking days. You never once gave up on me. You told me to write. You’ve read everything I’ve ever written. You let me cry more about stupid boys. You let me text you every sad and depressing thing in my life and never once complained. You always told me everything would be okay. You were the first person who ever read my first published piece.

You let me call and cry to you when things seem to be falling apart. You text me to ask about the same things I complain about. You’re making me an aunt for the third time. You’re helping to remind me of my dreams. You’re my voice of reason. You’re my source of constant encouragement. You’re my Lane Kim (or Van Gerbig).

We’re both growing up, just in different ways. You’ll always be the first person I send blog posts to and cry to about everything. You’ll always be the person who knows me the best. You’ll always be my best friend. (Sorry, but you’re stuck with me because I don’t have the kind of time or energy to break in someone else). I love you, Lane, and I only hope I can be a fraction of a Lorelai to your kids.