We're 16, going to see U2.
We're 17, doing what we do best at Sunday night get-togethers.
We're 18, with a funny hair sticking out.
We're 19, yo.
We're 20, and we live on different continents.
We're 21, one week before we get married.
We're 22, and pregnant.
We're 23, and it will take us six and a half more years to get rid of this ugly couch.
We're 24, and living in Tucson.
We're 25, with larger-than-life Christmas lights.
We're 26, and you can call him Esquire.
We're 27, and expecting Boy #3.
We're 28, and this is the only picture I could find.
We're 29, and I am one lucky girl.
Happy birthday, Stephen! I love you!