Thirty-Five.

This is what thirty-five looks like.  {It is also what 29 weeks pregnant looks like.} 

I thought it would feel somehow older, more mature at the very least.  Thirty-five seemed ancient when I was eighteen. 

I now realize how incredibly stupid I was at age eighteen and it amuses me.

 

This is probably the most content I’ve ever been in my life. 

I am happy, really happy. 

And that, my friends, is saying a lot.

I know just who I am as a person.  And I like that girl woman.  All of her.

Part of the plan for me, it’s the journey… at twenty-five or even thirty, I still hadn’t figured that out.  I wanted to know where I would end up, where I would go to college, who I would end up with, what I would be doing, what my life would be like, would I have kids, and on and on.  I wish I hadn’t wished away some of those years for the next step because the next step, it’s coming {it really is and it always does} so enjoy the step you’re on while you’ve got it.  I’m ok now with learning what the next fifty years will bring as it comes.  

Right now, I am here, right in the moment.  There is my Davester and a marriage {and a friendship} that I only could have imagined.  Finn, my funny little partner in crime and the sweet baby girl on the way.  Monty Poodle and Dexter, this family wouldn’t be complete without them.  There is my incredibly supportive family who has seen me through all thirty-five years, hugs me tightly and still loves me despite my teen years.  There are friends old and new, who make me laugh and lift me up.   And there are all of you who keep me endlessly entertained and who I love talking to daily.

Right here, is thirty-five. 

It feels good.