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?

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