(#1 on my list still… a monkey)
Well, today I turn 33.
It sounds so much older than 32 for some reason. Maybe it’s because I thought I’d be in a different place by this age. Pointedly, a mother. As I’ve written here before, the decision to go down that path has been one I’ve struggled with. Some tell me to hurry up, while some tell me not to worry, I’m still young. One person will tell me I’m missing out on a great experience, while after a cocktail or two another will plead to me to wait as long as I can, or not to do it at all. The advice that it thrown around concerning this subject is plentiful and powerful, and to someone like me it resonates and confuses to the point that it blocks out my own thoughts about the matter.
And to be honest, we have started down the path in an attempt to become parents. And it hasn’t happened for us. And it’s both frustrating and not bothersome to me. Yet. With major renovations to our new home starting in 3 weeks, moving and more business than I know what to do with my stress level is through the roof. Which I’m sure is contributing to the lack of baby in my belly right now, because we are both perfectly healthy. Something in me feels like when the time is right, it’ll happen. The universe somehow knows I am just way too overwhelmed to handle a pregnancy right now. I need to get into my house. I need to get some of it done first. I need to get some business straightened out. I need to get myself in a healthier place. I need to breathe for a bit before that can happen. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying, but I’m trusting in the greater powers out there to determine when it’s time. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel left out when every single post on my Facebook feed features a friend’s child, baby, second baby or swollen belly. Some days it kills me, and I feel like I’m so behind. And others I thank goodness that I only have to deal with myself. The emotional swings regarding this matter are epically wide and dramatic.
So for now, as I turn 33 , it’s just me. And Andrew. And Bax and Ollie. And that’s okay. We have a silly, happy, busy little family and eventually it will grow. Just not right this second. So this year I can celebrate my birthday with that extra glass of wine and perhaps next year, with any luck, it’ll be with a bottle of another kind.