Twenty-nine .... Plus One

(Note: in honor of this unwelcomed birthday, I'm hopping aboard the pity train and throwing a bit of a pity party for myself. Choo Choo.)

Thirty. The big 3-0. I'm thirty. It seems like such an impossible age to be.

Letting go of my 20s is proving to be very hard for me. I've been in quite a state for a month or so now, literally counting down the days.

My 20s are gone. In place of them comes 30, a formidable number to me.

Everyone tells me it's just a number. Some have told me that it just gets better from here. Others have said they loved everything about turning thirty. A few lovelies have told me I look much to young to be this age. (To those of who you said that, you're my new best friends. Thanks!)

I'm the youngest in my family, in my husband's family, and in my small circle of friends. As I've watched the rest of them shed their 20s over the last couple of years, I've secretly gloried in the fact that I still had mine. And now my day has come.

Meh.