It’s getting to the end of my birthday week, yes, I choose to consider the whole week a celebration of my existence! This year I enter a new decade, the thirties! Although I’ve displayed only mock horror at this fact, I have had some panicky moments in the past week. My birthday was last Tuesday and I woke up feeling extremely old and tired. Could this be because all sleep training went out the window once we got to London and Em kept me up all night? Probably.
Wednesday, and my joints were feeling a bit stiff and achy, a symptom many geriatrics complain of. Could this be, because I was still adjusting to UK temperatures and again hadn’t slept well? Possibly, but in that moment it felt like my youth truly was gone, forreva!
Saturday night, as I was threading a sewing machine for the first time in two years (why is another looong story), suddenly my 20/20 vision failed me and it took five blurry attempts before the thread made it through the eye. At this point I was really close to breakdown: is this what being thirty means? A few minutes later I remembered that I had been awake for twenty hours and hadn’t eaten for the past twelve of them. Here’s hoping that was the reason, as my perfect vision is extremely precious to me.
Some people get depressed about turning thirty, but I guess I’ve hit most of the milestones that can cause anxiety. Profession, yes, job, yes, home, yes, marriage, yes, children, one. So far, so good. And yet on Friday I felt a slight panic that the fun and wild twenties were over forever, had I made sure I had enough fun? Then I remembered, my twenties have been a blast!
(Pictures from my low key birthday party at Prampram yesterday.)