For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.
The year is 2009.
This morning I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, pondering life, while my daughter played a doot – do – doo on the empty coin rolls she found when she was ransacking our office.
In a little less than four months, we will welcome a new baby girl into our hectic lives and, to be honest, we don't know if our tiny house is big enough for the four of us, but we don't have a choice, do we? I think my daughter is going to be shocked with a baby actually comes out of her mommy's belly, like we have been telling her all along.
Is this what you're supposed to do in your thirties? Do we suddenly become worriers, fretting over everything, far removed from the laid-back lifestyle of our twenties?
Or is age, like Aaliyah crooned, nothing but a number?
I certainly don't feel different than I did last night as I thought about how to end this self-imposed project, and there were no new gray hairs that sprouted overnight.
Maybe turning 30 isn't all it's cracked up to be; perhaps I won't really feel the need to reflect until I'm 40.
At any rate, I'm not going to let it affect me. At the very least, it gave me a reason to blog for 30 days in a row.
Anyway, I'm more concerned with seeing if the Detroit Tigers can sweep the Chicago White Sox tonight at Comerica Park, which is where I'll spend the end of the first day of a new decade, if I can remember how to get there.