My husband is turning 30 on Saturday and it reminds me that I won’t be too far behind. Eight months from now, I too will be turning 30.
It has me thinking.
Age doesn’t bother me. I’ll never be one to pretend I’m younger or to deny getting older. I recently read someone put it bluntly on Twitter: We all have an expiration date. Why fear it? It’s bound to happen. It’s just a part of life. What does bother me is reflecting on 10 years ago, where I thought I’d be compared to where I am. I had myself convinced 10 years ago that by the time I was 30, I’d have 2-3 children and likely be putting an end to my childbearing years.
Oh, the naivety of a 19-year-old.
Obviously, that’s not happening. I won’t have another baby before turning 30 at this rate. However, I am hopeful for pregnancy by then. Hopeful, wishful, whatever you want to call it.
Funny how when you get older, your goals just change. At this point, I hope to get pregnant with #2 this year, before turning 30, and hope to have the #2 baby before turning 31.
In addition, I hope we’ll have a third by age 35. Whether that third is biological or through adoption, I feel like three is a good number for us. Three in our thirties. It has a nice ring to it.
These are my initial thoughts on us turning 30 in 2014. [Many] more to come.