Not in my Twenties Anymore
Today is a strange, strange day for me. It is my thirtieth birthday.
I know, in most circles 30 is not that old. And I’m not one of those women (or at least I never *was* one of those women) who obsesses over her age. But perhaps that is because up until now, I was in my twenties.
Ah, my twenties. The decade in which nearly everything significant happened. It’s the decade in which I really became who I am, a whole adult human being. The decade in which I loved and lost and loved again, and met the absolute love of my life and married him. I will always remember that decade fondly. Now I embark on a new decade. A little older, a lot wiser, with a few more lines to show for it and a gray hair here and there. Who knows what might happen in my thirties?
Well I know one thing that absolutely positively WILL happen in my thirties. I will become a mother. One way or another, whether through IUI, IVF, or something beyond that which I am not ready to contemplate yet…. it is going to happen. Obviously I’d like it to happen during this next year, but there are no guarantees. But I hereby promise that at some time during the next decade I will give birth to, or acquire in some other manner, a child. Hopefully more than one.
Sigh. Can you tell I’m trying to put on a brave face? The truth is that I was expecting to be expecting by now. I’ve talked about this before, so I won’t belabor the point yet again. But my original goal, way back when, was to give birth before I turned 30. As I started to see that this might not be realistic, the goal became to get pregnant by 30. And I think we all know how that turned out. Here I sit, 30, with no baby, inside or outside.
So, 30, you’re here. Please be kind to me. Please let my husband and I complete our quest to get the one thing we want so badly. This is the second year in a row that I made the same wish over my birthday candles. Maybe it will come true this time around?