It's here. The last day of my twenties. Tomorrow, I turn 30. I'm not happy about it, and I'm not looking forward to it... especially since Hubby insists on poking fun at my upcoming milestone.
Pardon my general moodiness as this day approaches. Even last night, Hubby commented on how much of a grouch I was being. And I was being a grouch. But I'm just not looking forward to 30.
I'm not looking forward to that image, in general. Yes, I am married, and yes, I have two kids, so I'm pretty much on my way there, but I don't what to be lumped into this "mom-jeans" category. I feel like it's stripping away the identity I had for the past 29 years. Instead of being my youthful self I had been all these years, now I'm old me. Adult me. Middle-aged me. Ugh.
And don't give me this whole "age is just a number" bullsh!t. People react to numbers. Someone in their twenties is young and sexy and vibrant. Someone in their thirties is haggard, homely, and... deflated. I guess that's the only word I could come up with.
Maybe it's just my own personal perception of the age. Whatever reason I have for feeling this crappy, just let me be. As of now, Hubby is taking the boys and I'm going to go off by myself and wallow in my own misery all day tomorrow. Then maybe take a hot yoga class, because I'll need to burn off all the crap I'm gonna eat tomorrow. :P
1 comment:
They're saying 40 is the new 20, so in theory we're only 10. Wanna come over and ride bikes and rock out to New Kids? :-)
The other day I was filling out paperwork and had to write my age down for the first time since I hit this milestone. It sucked. I feel ya.
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