They Say It's...just another day. Please.

Tomorrow I turn 34. 

I hate the way that sounds.  THIRTY FOUR.  THHHHIIIIIIRRRRTTTTYYYY  FFFFFOOOOUUUURRRR.  Ugh.

It sounds so mom-jeans, sensible flats, short-hair cut, right?  I'm a 34 year old mom.  I wear spanx.  I have random grays .  I have to pluck a chin hair that shows up inexplicably every three weeks.

When I was young I never really thought about my 30s.  They were old years--years that I didn't need to worry about--because they were so far off into the future.  And, now, I'm planted firmly in the middle of them, and, strangely enough, I spend a lot of time worrying these days.

I spent the day I turned 30 alone.  By choice.  I took the day off and spent it hanging around in my house.  Probably doing laundry.  I had told Greg that I didn't want any fanfare; I just wanted to quietly coast into the decade.  And then in November of that year, he totally ignored my wishes and threw me a surprise party.  The following June, we were married, and then in July, found out I was pregnant. 

30 was a good year.

I was 4 months pregnant when I turned 31.  My family took me out to dinner a few weeks later when we could all free our schedules on the same day.  We ate at an Italian restaurant on the boardwalk in town that didn't have fried calamari.  (Can you believe?)  Greg's mom was up visiting from Myrtle Beach.  Later on, back at my house, she took a picture of my parents sitting on my couch.  The last one.

My mom died a month later; I was in a car accident in January of '08, and then Leah was born in March.  I rallied through what I now know was a slight case of post pardum depression mixed with mourning that would just not go away.  I tried to be the best mom I could be, but there were some days that I didn't think I would make it.

32 was more of same.  I finally came to grips with the fact that my mom was NEVER going to meet Leah.  Despite the fact that I don't think of myself as all that dumb, I had the hardest time processing that my mom would never meet Leah, even though she was, you know, DEAD.  I don't know why.  I mean, I knew my mom had died before Leah was born, but I just couldn't accept that she would never see what I made.  Never meet this kid. 

I realized in year 32 that life was going to be very different now that we had a child.  We would have to, you know, always care for her and spend a lot of time and money on her and she was going to be here for a while.  And we didn't want it any other way, but it was a reality check of the kid kind.

33 was sort of a reality check of the adult kind.  The economy was uncertain and so were our salaries.  Greg's field was no longer a sure thing while mine was growing.  So we tried something new: he would spend more time at home with Leah with his flexible work schedule while I would continue to work full time, putting in long days, and attempting (sometimes badly) to not resent him for getting to spend more time with our daughter. 

I still thought a lot about my mom and couldn't understand why I wasn't getting over her death.  I started this blog; I joined Facebook; I found support and kind words from more people than I could ever imagine.

And now, 34. 

34.

I feel like I'm this work in progress and I'm never going to finish. 

My goal for 34 is to find some balance and contentment and a little more happiness. 

My goal for right now is to find some potato chips.

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