Today is my birthday, my 39th to be exact. My last year of being in my 30's.
I've mixed feelings about leaving this period of my life. For the bulk of it, I have been raising babies. My first child arrived when I was 28, the next one when I was 32 and bringing up the caboose is my last who was born when I was 35. While other mothers are celebrating their child's graduation from high school, I'm celebrating the fact that my youngest is finally potty-trained. For the first time in nearly 10 years, I don't have to keep a diaper bag in my car. People keep telling me I'm going to miss these baby years. Ummm....I don't think so.
The 30's for many women is a decade of personal growth. Their children are in school, independent human beings doing their own thing while a mother gets to spend some time exploring her own persona. For me, well, I've spent these years at the beck and call of my little darlings. Not that I'm complaining (yeah, I am) but it doesn't leave a lot of time for self-discovery. But to be honest, I couldn't have raised kids in my 20's. At least I wouldn't have done as good a job.
This decade also brought out my writing. I completed my first ms when I was 34, something I'd never been able to do before. My writing developed in leaps and bounds and I wrote four complete mss in this decade. Okay, so only two of them are readable. But I went from horrible to pretty darn good in a matter of only four years. As a writer, the 30's were phenomenal.
So the big 4-0 looms in the distance. It doesn't bother me. When I turn 40, I will see my last child go to school. I will be able to spend some time on my own. I'm excited to see where my writing goes. Every year I've logged on this earth adds to my voice, giving it a richness that only aging can give it.
Bring it on, I'm more than ready!