It has been raining for most of the week, and the girls have been feeling the cabin fever. To pass the time on these dreary mornings, we've been watching whatever will pacify them. This morning, it was a rerun of Full House.
In this particular episode, the family is throwing a surprise birthday party for Danny, who is turning 30. (Random side note...did people really dress like that in the early 90s? Because it's not a good look...AT ALL.) Everyone, including Danny, seems to think that turning 30 is a big deal. And the only thing I could think was, Dude, you have three kids and a house that makes mine look like a closet. It's about TIME you turned 30!
It occurred to me that I'm almost 33, and I'm OK with that. My 20s were a rough decade. There's the uncertainty of singlehood, the bright spot that was our engagement and wedding, and then the ugliness of coming to terms with infertility. Yep, though I enjoyed much of my 20s, it's not a decade that I'd be willing to repeat.
I can honestly say I've never been more content with my life. I enjoy being a Mom. I love my husband. I can't remember a time when I've been happier just living in the moment instead of waiting for what comes next. (Another side note: It's too bad that so much stupidity is going on in America and politics right now...things that can always make me pause and worry about the future of our country. However, being a SAHM allows me to largely ignore the news or at least be distracted from it, a luxury I never had when I was working, so at least there's that.)
So, 30? Yeah, it's no big deal.