Today is my 35th birthday and I have mixed feelings about it. I obviously have no problem admitting my age. My 35th one reminds me of a goal I set. In my late 20s, I decided that if I didn’t have a husband when I turned 35, I would get pregnant and be a single mom. I mentioned this plan to my mom and to my surprise; she told me that out of all the women she knows I would be a great single mom. About six months later, I became friends with Steve. We talked about lots of things and I mentioned this goal to him. He responded by saying that I should look him up (as in he would be happy to “father” my child). Now that I am 35, we have two kids together and he isn’t interested in a third. Perhaps, I should remind him of the offer tonight when we all go out to dinner. At least I will get a laugh out of it.
Turning 35 doesn’t really bother me, but I wish it was happening in a few months, simply because I would like to look better. Who wants to be 15 lbs over weight (I went to the doctor)? On top of that, I got my hair cut and I am less than thrilled. It was just taking too long to blow dry, so I wanted it quite a bit shorter. I went to the salon & showed the stylist that I wanted it to be about an inch past my collar bone. I walked out with a really short bob that would be extra cute if I was 12 years old.
Thirty five is just another number and I am happy to be where I am in life, but I could do without the extra weight and the silly hair cut. Hopefully both of those will improve in the next few months & I can spend most of this year celebrating and not really feeling like I could actually be 35.
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