04 February 2018
for so long, february has meant we'd welcome our valentine and i'd turn thirty. of course, our little mister had plans of his own and, anyway, my birthday and baby's birth-day have been so tangled up in one another, i've hardly given thought to what it means for me to greet this new landscape of my life.
and yet. turning the page to february this week, it occurs to me that perhaps i do have some thoughts on what my twenties have meant? perhaps there is something i'd like to note about the years i am leaving behind?
that is to say: there were years that ached with questions, and years that bloomed with answers. there were years i was lost, and years i was found. i remember traveling alone in celebration of turning twenty five and walking across san francisco on a single thought: all the biggest ways i wanted to spend my life still felt quite out of my reach.
that is to say: i remember when i wanted what i have now.
tomorrow i will pass into thirty, tucked between my christopher and our francis, and i look at them, at the three of us together, and i want for nothing. nothing.
it's everything. it's all there is.
and so i welcome thirty. grateful for my life, for what i have, for the season i am in, for the hands holding mine.
woman, (his) wife, (his) mother. all i have ever wanted to be.
and so i welcome thirty, having come home within myself.