The morning of my thirtieth birthday, I was hanging over the toilet, alternating upchucking my first sushi dinner I’d had in ages and a fairly expensive Riesling with hand-expressing breast milk from myself, knowing there was absolutely zero chance I could feed my daughter in the next few hours without guilt…or dropping her. I could feel the mascara I’d layered on to show my husband I can still look pretty(ish) becoming crusted beneath my eyes and all I wanted was for the room to stop. fucking. spinning.
Not a pretty picture, guys.
The night had involved a shimmering dinner and few (too many) drinks out with my husband – the first real date we’d had since our daughter was born a few months ago. Breastfeeding was its own chore and wonderful new thing and I was (am) still coming to terms with this little life that came from me, squirming and pissed and beautiful. Thirty came at me like a Roman candle to the gut (kind of literally).
Coming to terms with where I thought my life would be by now versus where it is never felt so stupid. Everyone always makes a big deal out of thirty. And forty. Whatever. For everything my life is not, it has a feature snippet that makes me adore the swerving, swearing, uncertain path it took. And all of this comes with that wonderful phrase “so far.”
I’m a business owner and that, along with being responsible for bringing up a child who won’t be a dickhead, and being the kind of wife that gets to keep being married to the man of my dreams, is my focus. There’s a lot to be said about my ignorance and mistakes since launching Thera Writes. There’s a lot to be said about things I’ve done right…so far.
With the dawning of a new decade, I’m hoping for more clarity, the ability to live and exist with more purpose, the wisdom to know when I’m being a piece of shit and the grace to change it.
More on that “clarity” thing in the next post, y’all. Lots of “whoa” happening, nowadays…so far.