I turned 30 last week, since I generally have trouble remembering how old I am, this isn't really a big deal to me. Sure, my warranty is expiring, and I'm getting annoyed at my body for healing more slowly and showing signs of age, but compared to the physically devastating effects of pregnancy and giving birth, I'm not complaining. (Of course they are compounding events...) And well, related to that, I have met my only age related goal so far, of having my first child before I turned thirty. My goal was not to be a working woman that forgot to have children until it was too late, and your fertility is in significant decline by the time you are 35, with aging eggs (slower release, and more chromosomal abnormalities, or is it just that all the good ones pop first?) and fibroids, so I figured 30 was a good deadline to get cracking. Check.
Other things that I might have wanted to get done by now are probably done too, baby has a dad and all that.
So yah, getting older pretty much sucks, but given that I can't do anything about that, things are pretty groovy.
Other things that I might have wanted to get done by now are probably done too, baby has a dad and all that.
So yah, getting older pretty much sucks, but given that I can't do anything about that, things are pretty groovy.
- Current Mood:examining
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katharos- Katherine Donaldson
- OneInchWorld
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I'm not sure I'll feel that way as I continue to get older, though. It's a hard thing: will I be able to keep doing the things I love? will I still look OK? No one knows these things. But as we can't stop it, I guess we've got to roll with it.
Somewhere in Stranger in a Strange Land, Jubal Harshaw has a line about how no woman ever grew older than eighteen in her heart. (He's talking about the Rodin statue "She Who Used To Be the Beautiful Heaulmière".)
Sometimes I think I am not the same person I was at eighteen, and in many ways that's true. But in other ways, I still feel young inside of me, and perhaps that is what counts, in the end.