It's my birthday. I'm 29. A few people have said something regarding the fact that this is my last year in my 20's... as if turning 30 was something to dread. I suppose it's normal not to want to age, but I think there is a difference between aging, and growing up. I don't particularly love the hints of wrinkles by my eyes and on my forehead. I tweeze out gray hairs from time to time, but I'm starting to give up that battle. When I rub Lucy's hand while she falls asleep, there is a remarkable difference I notice in the texture of our skin. The light from the hallway catches the wrinkles and creases on my fingers, hers are still perfectly smooth. I always noticed the way my grandma's hands look. It happens so gradually, it sneaks up on you... I thought my hands hadn't changed at all until I looked at my hand by my child's. Take that literally or symbolically, I am making a point either way.
Ironically, I feel better about myself than I ever did when I was a kid, especially when I was a teenager, or even five years ago, when I was married, trying to start a family, but had no idea what the path ahead of me might look like (and a lack of ambition to create one!). Now I'm very blessed... I am content, and confident. And sometimes I still get carded.