|Sisters for life. Morning of my wedding.|
I turn 30 today.
Thoughts I have had this week:
“Do I really need to celebrate my 30th?”
“What if no one knows I am turning 30. Then I don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”
“Shoot, my sister and mom remembered. They are throwing me a party. I am supposed to invite friends. Need to make a list.”
“My list included 10 friends. We are gonna get crazy.”
“Only three say they can come. They are bringing babies. Maybe that means I can get to sleep before 10.”
“I am so lame. I am so boring. What happened to me?”
“I need to start using my anti-aging system.”
“Ah! Where did these wrinkles come from. Crap, it has been over a month and that expensive night cream is still in the box.”
“Does turning 30 mean I can’t wear clothes from Forever 21 anymore?”
“Why don’t I get carded anymore?! It must be my clothes. I always wear sweatpants. Or my kid. It isn’t me.”
“30 will be great. I just have to work out harder than ever and watch my metabolism slow down, but the pro’s outweigh the con’s.”
I always imagined having some big party at some fancy hotel in some fancy black dress and rock star high heels to commemorate thirty big years.
Well, here I sit in the same pair of Pink sweatpants I have had since I was 26, drinking a cup of coffee with way too much fake cream in it, dreading the idea of having to get ready in a few minutes.
Instead of doing something fancy, I could hardly bring myself to getting enough energy to remind the people in my life I turn 30. I mentioned it in passing about a month ago, to who better than my mom.
Who, thankfully, rounded up a group of my friends to have a night of Greek food, mojito’s, and mockery for me.
If she hadn’t done something, I am sure I would have been wallowing over a bit of ice cream and a Parenthood marathon.
So maybe I don’t have a reason to wear one of my cute dresses and heels. But I am going to anyways. And yea, a toddler will be pulling at my dress and touching me everywhere with her chocolate-milk hands.
But God served me up a really good 30 years, better than the one I had in my naive imaginations. I have friends who know what a record toddler tantrum can do to a momma’s soul who will be there, and friends who have shared many a sleepover with me in my single days. I have a mother who decided she needed to fly out and hang with her daughter, and a hubby who has some special surprise for me in a week. And a sister, that despite all odds of us killing each other in our twenties, I love to pieces. My daughter? Who am I kidding? SMITTEN.
|I was done for the moment she looked up at me. Tap out!|
So this odd bunch and I will fill our faces with falafel and hummus and I might even let them mock me a bit for my fear of birthday parties and being the center of attention.
All I can think of is that I am blessed. I don’t deserve any of this. I am just a big, giant mess of person. But 30 years has done one amazing thing for me. I can thank God alone for all of my blessings. Looking back on my life, I see Jesus many times along my path, hidden in the faces of people I love and in other mysterious ways to perfect to pass off as fate. Age doesn’t scare me anymore, and death not as much, because I see that life is lovely and fleeting. I have many “peace” deposits in me, and the more I age the more treasures seem to be deposited in my heart. Not by me.
I hope one day I will just laugh at my wrinkles and saggy body. I hope my peace will come from something far more significant. Right now, not gonna lie, I am getting that night cream back out.