My dad died when he was 58, and 29 was a hard year for me. That thought lingered in the back of my head nearly every day of that year, "I'm already halfway to 58. I've already lived half of my dad's life." I won't talk much about 29: Let's just say I'm glad it's in the past. The only bright spot of 29 is how it ended: Newly pregnant with my first child. 30 was a pretty good year, in the balance of things. Extremely hard, but completely transformative.
Today is my thirty-fifth birthday. 35. Middle aged. Halfway to death. (Although projections now say that I probably have 5 or 6 more years before I actually reach that milestone.) I've been dreading 35 ever since 29. But now that it's here, I'm not too worried.
Yeah, I thought I would have accomplished more by 35. That my law career would have gone somewhere. That I would have done something notable. But I'm "just" a mom, and right now, I'm okay with that. It truly is the hardest job in the world, and some days I totally suck at it. I miss the concrete tasks of being a barista - of knowing what to do, how to do it, and when it's done. Of being able to step back and look at my work and to know it had been done properly (and to be able to dump it down the drain and start over when it wasn't). There's very little concrete about motherhood. But I don't regret choosing this path.
I didn't make any resolutions for 2013, because I didn't think I could add anything to my already-full plate. This is going to be a big year for us. We're planning on moving to a new house, in a new town, an hour away. Valerie starts kindergarten in the fall. And in August (God willing and the creek don't rise), I'll be having another baby. I have a feeling that 35 is going to be a lot like 30: Extremely hard, but completely transformative.