I was at a work event a couple weeks ago, and found myself sitting next to an older couple. The woman asked me about my family, and after I shared with her that I had a 10 month old baby boy at home she exclaimed with a knowing smile, “when my oldest child was about that age is the happiest I’d ever been”. We went on to talk back and forth about the best parts of chubby giggling babies.
Days later, that conversation stuck with me. I am happy. Yes, maybe even the happiest I have ever been.
There are days when I am tired and worn out and want to just sleep.in.please.just.once. But more often than not, there are days when I feel happiness at the back of my eyes wanting to sneak out in the form of tears when I watch Philip and Zee laughing together.
30 is watching your own family grow, and making your first memories with them. 30 is making this big old house (the kind I stared out dreamily as a college student in this very same neighborhood) feel like home. 30 is still sometimes feeling insecure about my career, but not caring nearly as much. 30 is knowing which friends are worth weekend getaways and late night chats. 30 is good.
p.s. Yes, I turned 30 last month. I celebrated on a fancy dinner date with my husband, and then came home to a little surprise party. Oh, and I stayed up until 2 a.m. — and felt very very old the next morning.
Photo credits to Ely Fair Photography.