When you are in your twenties, 30 sounds old. And then you hit 30 and realize that all of those twenty-somethings are just kids. You, however, are still considered to be among the young crowd, except now you are young with life experience.
Thirty-five is a little different...at least for women. It seems to be the magical line where your biological clock starts ticking a little louder and your body starts falling apart. You slide from a category of regular women of childbearing age to a category that is high risk if pregnancy should occur (not that it's likely either way for me). Something about hormones and chromosomes and whatnot. Women over 35 are supposed to be at risk for this and that and the other thing. I think I'm supposed to be gaining weight...and aren't your bones supposed to start falling apart at this point? It just seems like the arbitrary point where everything is supposed to start going downhill.
I'm not worried. I feel better than I have in years. Because of my reproductive health issues, I disciplined myself to eat better than I ever havhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gife and weigh less than I have at any point in my life post-high-school. I sleep well, I enjoy my life, and I don't have a lot of extra stress. While my family size is smaller than I would have imagined it to be at this point, I love my family and the time we spend together. It just seems...right. I am content.
So, although it is raining AND a Monday, I'm going to say that on my thirty-fifth birthday, I am pretty happy. Life is good.