What Thirty Feels Like

I woke up this morning a #thirtyyearold #woman. I use the term 'woman' loosely, because I still watch Disney movies when Valen's not around and get overly excited about the dessert and snack aisles at the grocery store. Those are just two examples of how I'm a child but follow me on Snapchat and you'll get an idea of how deep the rabbit hole goes. 

So, anywho, I woke up and stuff; got to say, I'm thrilled about that because yesterday I was afraid that I might just die in my sleep from old age. I am happy to report I am alive and my hair didn't turn grey whilst I dreamt away my youth. 

I think every teenage girl had at least one moment where they sat around with their girlfriends planning out their futures. "O.M.G if I'm not married with three kids, a huge home with a white picket fence, and a well trained dog by the time I turn thirty then I'll JUST.DIE."

I knew I wanted a loving marriage, lots of kids who adored me, and a simple life. HAH.

​Well, my life's been anything but simple. Ain't no man waiting to rub my shoulders by the fireplace he built with his studly bare hands. I have one child who growls at people and makes her belly button talk, and my dog literally howls at the moon and attacks children. I live in a tiny apartment and the people who live above me must move their own furniture for a living because that's all they seem to do day and night. 

The teenage versions of us, planning out our fairy-tale futures, are cute; but, I think they got it wrong. I think happiness, and I should preface this by saying that I am supremely happy, is less about checking boxes and more about diving into your life with an open mind and heart. 

I've had trials and tribulations, as we all have. Each one of them has taught me something about myself. I think I've done a pretty good job of embracing failure and brushing off my shoulders like an OG (that means original gangster, for all you #thirty plusers). I'm also not that teenage girl anymore: you know, the one who cares what everyone thinks of them, and puts way too much pressure on herself to be perfect. Sure, my skin doesn't glow like a babies and sometimes I contemplate whether or not to wear pants, but I love myself. I don't care if you see me without makeup, and if my kid wants to have a dance party in an inappropriate place I'm going to shake a tail feather. The older I get the less affected I am. 

I am closer than ever to my #family. I am the most fulfilled I've ever been working with my hands and inhaling chemicals. I have a best friend, that I made from scratch like a super painful banana bread, who teaches me more about life's beauty than I ever imagined possible. My body and soul are the healthiest they've ever been. I am surrounded by people who constantly inspire me, love me, and root for me, and I live in an actual paradise where every day is t-shirt and flip-flops weather. 

So, no... Thirty is not what I thought it would be. It is better. 

I've got big plans for this decade, and they include lots of happiness, lots of good food, more expensive alcohol (your twenties is for the stuff in plastic and cardboard), and love in abundance.

Now, don't quote me on any of this on the eve of my fortieth #birthday when I'm locked in, what is hopefully, an enormous walk-in closet crying about how my life is over and I need a boob-job. 

xoxo ​This Old B**ch