You guys, I'm thirty.
Did I tell you yet? I totally am.
It happened back in July. David organized a big dinner.
I know that decade birthdays are supposed to be a big deal. Maybe 40 will feel like a big deal. 30 did not.
I don't feel that old. I don't feel that mature. I don't feel that grown-up. I wasn't sad or freaked out about turning thirty. Not even a little bit. I kept expecting the panic to come... but it didn't.
I honestly feel like, in practice, my twenties ended as soon as I gave birth to Henry, so really, it seems like I'm where I belong here in the thirties.
But, here's the biggest change. Here's the first mark of aging. Here's being 30: This fall, David & I bought big, fat, life insurance plans. Now, if either of us die, the other one gets a ton of cash.
We have officially begun planning for our deaths.
And THAT makes me feel really, really, really, old. And WAY more grown-up than I care to be.