Thirty-Five

So, here I am, half-way through my thirties.  Half-way to 70 as a friend loves to point out. 

Thirty-five. 

This age holds some significance for me that I can’t help but think about today. 

See, my mom and dad were a lot older when they had me.  My mom struggled with getting pregnant and there are 17 years between my older brother and me, and 10 between the younger of my two brothers and me.  Mom never was on birth control.  That’s just how long it took for her to get pregnant.  She always wanted a girl, and never gave up on that dream.  I came along when mom was 41 and dad was 49.

I loved my life growing up and there are certainly advantages to being born to older parents.  They understand so much about life.  They have lived through so much.  There definitely was no uncertainty that I was loved and they wanted me and wanted to spend time with me without any need to live out any “younger” antics or what-not. 

But I also saw how tired they were.  My parents owned their own business on top of having a farm, and they worked so hard.  My mom is still one of the hardest working people I know.  She never sits down and rests and is always on the go!

With seeing how tired they were, I specifically remember thinking to myself, I want to have all of my children by 35, no later.  I didn’t want to be too tired to enjoy them and travel with them.

So, here I am, at that self-imposed deadline I set years ago, struggling with the desire of wanting more children while loving our little life with our man-to-man coverage. 

Happy birthday to me.