So. Thirty-five. It seems like a Big Age. A milestone.
All I keep thinking about is that I remember my own mother being 35 and how this strange thing happens when you're a kid - you think your parents didn't exist before you knew them. So in a morbid, self-centered sense, we CREATE our parents. I gave birth to my mother when she was 35 because that's how I first remember her.
To my eight-year-old mind, she was so... ADULT. So grown up. She had it all together. My dad's company had recently gone public and she was in the process of building her dream house. Here she is in the then-kitchen with her dad: She was a year away from getting pregnant with her fourth child.
She had a LOT going on and it's hard for me, now that I'm 35, not to make comparisons.
When I said as much to Joel, he looked at me like he wanted to smack me silly and immediately reminded me that I have PLENTY going on.
I have the two best children on earth! Two children who woke up full of happy birthdays and snuggles.
I might not have a bank account filled with IPO money, but I'm getting a tax refund! And I can pay my own bills. Just barely, but STILL.
I'm about to self-publish a novel. (SO! CLOSE!)
I am obscenely proud of my two blogs, one of which has some pretty exciting stuff going on behind the scenes (annoucement soon!).
I have a day job that I enjoy more and more every (other) day.
My best friends are some serious kickass broads.
I have never felt more connected to another human being than I do to Joel Gunz - intellectually, emotionally, physically. I had no idea love could be this fantastic every day.
I weigh 183 pounds, which wouldn't normally be something to write about, except that I weighed 7 pounds more than that three weeks ago and I was able to easily recognize and rectify the problem. I will never be thin, but I don't think I'll ever be fat again either. My lifelong weight issues are pretty much my bitch.
Last year I skipped my Graceful Aging Project (in which I take a picture of my naked face every year on my birthday) because I didn't feel graceful at all. In fact, I doubt I've ever felt worse about myself than I did the day I turned 34. There are some photos, but even now, I find them difficult to look at and I'm still not ready to post them.
But here I am at 9:31 this morning without a speck of face paint.
There's no other life I'd rather have than the one I get to wake up to every morning. I'd like to think my kids are giving birth to a very happy mother.