Rotting Eggs

I sat on the table this morning, paper rustling beneath me, awaiting the doctor with my hands clasped in my lap. My hands were clammy, and my heart was beating quickly. 

It was time I faced what I had been fearing so intently for the past year. The reason my eyes well up when I realize that I'm turning 30 in five months: I'm afraid that I'm running out of time to have children. 

I didn't even know I wanted them, to be honest. It wasn't until I realized that all of my friends are getting married and having babies that I really started to look at my own life and think about what I wanted. 

K and I have talked about getting married and having kids, quite seriously actually. But we're not ready YET. 

But here I was, having to ask the question that I feared getting the answer to: how long do I have left? 

She answered me with a straight face, while I fidgeted and avoided eye contact. Many women are having children from 35 into their forties these days, she told me. You have plenty of time. And while 35 is considered a high risk pregnancy, it basically just means you have to go in for more tests than younger women.

My shoulders sank as I breathed a huge sigh of relief. All of the fears that I had built up over the past year left my body, as I realized that I still could have everything that I wanted: my career, a wedding, and to plan my family with K when WE are ready, not based on some biological clock race. Because eff that shiz. We have plenty of time to embrace growing up, but today? Today is Friday, and I have a 12-pack of Shipyard Pumpkinhead to drink while we watch the series finale of Boston Legal on Netflix.

Keg Kicker

We kicked the keg in a day and a half. Drinking out of solo cups in sweatshirts and rain-soaked shoes. We played Cards Against Humanity until 1am and got a nice visit from the (very cute) forest ranger, who politely asked us to quiet down. 

We got 5 complaints from neighboring campsites, sang Mariah Carey songs at the top of our lungs, and found out the sex of our soon-to-be godchildren (twins!) 

It was the best weekend ever. And it reminded me that I've been taking everything WAY too seriously lately. I may be almost thirty, but we can still have fun. And act like high school kids. And eat s'mores for breakfast.

The Conversation

We went on vacation to Montana last week, for the wedding of one of my best friends. It was the last wedding we have in the lineup for awhile, which, to be honest is a bit of a relief. 

The wedding was incredibly beautiful; we had such an awesome time with all of my high school friends. Then we drove up to Glacier for the remainder of the week, just the two of us. It was incredibly therapeutic taking an entire week for just the two of us. We didn't turn on the radio once for the 3.5 hour drive up to Glacier. Just took photos out the window, talked about life, and absorbed the amazing scenery. 

On our last night, we had a serious talk. It involved many beers and some crying, unsurprisingly. I've been afraid to talk, in all honesty. I thought by being honest about my feelings on marriage and the timeline I have in my head, I'd freak him out. I was afraid to put extra pressure on him and make him stress out. But it turns out, we're not so far off base as I thought. And he is just as excited as I am to get married. Possibly more so, because it seems he already has the shoes for the groomsmen picked out. Really, it comes down to money. We just need to save for a wedding, now. Because 1) we live in New York where everything is "spendy". And 2) we're old, and are planning on paying for the entire thing ourselves.

But it reminded me how important it is to have honest conversations. And how much it reconnects you. I was so terrified to bring up anything wedding-related, and I wound up driving myself into a depression over assumptions. That he wasn't ready. That he was scared. That he felt pressured. That I would be too old to have babies, by the time we got married. Turns out, I was wrong. And I really should have just asked in the first place. I guess I was just scared. Terrified, really.

On our first day back to work after vacation, I was gathering my multiple bags, lunch, and coffee and struggling to close the door on my way to the car. K grabbed my laptop bag and asked what else he could take. He said he sees me every day trying to take everything at once, and just wanted to help. He was already running late, just as I was, which made the gesture all the more special. I think, in the midst of my downward spiral, I forgot to be thankful for everything I have. God, I love that guy. 

Now excuse me while I continue to post on my secret wedding Pinterest board...

Salon Date

Going to the salon is about more than just getting your nails and hair done. It's paying for an hour to spend with a stranger who asks you about YOU. They know you, and your life story, if you go often enough. And sometimes, you feel like they really care. 

And so, on Tuesday, after getting the news that my regular stylist had quit, I found myself in the black leather spinning chair in front of a stranger. Cape tied around my neck, hair parted in the middle and dripping wet, I stared at my blind date--the one wielding the scissors--and tried to read her. She was young, a few years younger than me, a long, thick braid down her back. We started with banal, meaningless conversation, but quickly diverted into serious life-talk. We have similar life situations. I've been with K for 4 years now, she's been with her boyfriend for 3. Both of us want to get married. Both of us want kids, (she has a 14 month old, but advised me to wait until we were really, REALLY ready. Which I took very seriously, since the girl clearly knows what she's talking about.) I opened up about my third-life crisis, and found myself pouring my heart out to the stranger cutting my hair. It felt like a real connection. And when I left, I found myself as excited to make this new friend as I would have been in my dating days to meet a new boyfriend. We were kindred spirits, she and I.

On Thursday, I got my nails done (I'm not usually this diligent about my salon visits, but we're heading to a wedding next weekend). And though I had met this girl before, my visit felt different. Again, we started with nonsense conversation, and gradually diverged into life stories, her painful divorce, dealing with being far from parents, and having to call your partner "boyfriend" at 44 and 29, respectively, though it feels like an inadequate term. We sat talking long after my session ended (I was her last client of the day). When I finally got up to leave, I felt such a high from an honest human connection that I could have cried. 

There is just something to be said about being able to sit across from someone and talk about your life in an open, honest way. It makes you feel like everything in your life is meant to be, and that you're not alone, no matter what it is you're going through. I guess I've just been in dire need to spill my heart out to someone, and though I was paying these two ladies for services, I came away feeling like I had attended a therapy session. 

Going to the salon is about more than beauty treatments. It's about human connection. And sometimes, when you're feeling sad or lonely, just having someone pay attention to you can mean the world. It's all starting to piece back together for me, bit by bit. I can feel myself coming back to life. 

Beer pong to baby bottles

On Saturday, I stood in the middle of the backyard, watching my friends chase tiny humans around the swingset, down the slide. Five years ago, this same group of people and I played rowdy games of beer pong, discussed drama, and drank until we couldn't stand up. 

Now, at my favorite little 4-year-old cousin's birthday party, I smiled as I realized how surreal it was to instead see all of these former keg stand champions with tiny versions of themselves, holding baby bottles instead of beer bottles. 

As painful as it is sometimes for me to be around babies, I can't seem to get enough lately. Five years ago, I would have rather been playing flip cup. Saturday, I delighted in feeding my new little buddy baby Cheetos (that tasted alarmingly like grown-up Cheetos) and marveling over his tiny polo shirt. 

Standing around the buffet, I gracefully dodged inquiries as to why I did not as of yet have a ring on my left finger, with abstract jokes and forced laughter. It's getting harder to joke about. 

I responsibly drank Coke instead of beer, so I could drive, and helped put tiny water guns into gift bags for the kids to take home. 

And as I knelt on the floor of my cousin's bedroom and helped my favorite little 4-year-old into her purple princess bathing suit, I smiled and mulled over how crazy life can be. How you slowly but surely find yourself growing up and getting used to the idea of marriage and babies. One day you're sloshing beer around a frat party, and the next, you're watching your friends chase tiny versions of themselves around. How funny, beautiful, sometimes painful, and seemingly natural this evolution of life can be.

The 30 Panic

To elaborate a little more on yesterday's post, I didn't expect 30 to hit me quite as hard as it has. And it was a sudden panic, not a slow transition. 

I can't remember exactly what it was that set me off, but I think just being at that age where I'm surrounded by marriage and babies has pushed me into it. I mean, there was one day a few weeks ago where THREE different people on my newsfeed got married.

Another really tough part of this panic is the pressure I feel like I'm putting on K. With my brother and sister both getting married within one year, we've gotten many friendly jabs from friends and family about being "next". Which I can totally handle, in small doses. But the cumulative total of jabs started to wear on me after awhile. Because, doesn't everyone understand--I want these things, too! We both do. But we both have to be READY and do it on our own time. Key word: BOTH. Two lives here, not just one.

The crazy thing about this 30-panic is that I'm SO genuinely happy for my friends who are getting married and having babies. I really am. Like, drop-to-my-knees-sobbing, happy. My friends are my favorite people in the whole world, and I'm SO happy they're getting what they've always wanted. 

I felt a lot of guilt for a long time, thinking this made me a bad person. How can you be happy for someone and sad for yourself at the same time? It took me a few months to be able to separate that this sadness doesn't mean I DON'T want them to have these things, I just want them too. 

And truth be told, I'm not even sure I'm READY for any of it. I just know that I want it, and I think I'm readier the closer I get to 30. 

I have good days and bad days, and I'm trying to just embrace the good and recognize that the bad days are just a good opportunity to reflect on my life. 

And what I really wish I could say out loud in an actual spoken conversation K, what I want to tell him is that even though marriage and babies definitely INVOLVE him, I'm not blaming him for this sadness. This is a personal challenge that I need to face myself. And come to terms with the fact that I'm happy with my life as-is, I'm just in a bit of a quarter-life crisis. Or third-life. Sweet jeebus. There's that panic again.

Dark Grey

God, I needed this today. This post (http://momastery.com/blog/2013/07/09/g-how-are-you/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+Momastery+%28Momastery%29) from Glennon over at Momastery brought tears to my eyes this morning. For the umpteenth time this week. Because I am dark-grey, lately, too. 

I haven't been blogging. Not because I've been lazy. Or uninspired. Because I've been feeling dark grey for the past few months. Like, cry-in-the-car-on-the-way-home-every-day, dark grey. 

And I just haven't been able to put my finger on why. 

Maybe it's because I find myself breathing into a paper bag over turning 30 in six months. I'm watching my friends get married, have babies, make career changes, buy houses... and I am doing none of that. 

I'm the oldest of 3, and the last to get married. And I'm not even sure if I'm READY for marriage. But I want it. And I feel like I should live up to some invisible standard of being married by 30. Which is clearly not going to happen.

And I'm definitely not ready for kids. I am too damn selfish, and I like my alone time, and date night, and beer too much right now. But every now and again, I pick up one of my friends' babies, and something inside of me breaks a little. In that biological-I should be a mother, kind of way. 

And I feel myself moving around in this fog every day, going through the motions of my life. And most days I can make it through. But I find myself crying a lot of the time, and I felt really alone until I read Glennon's post and realized I'm not. 

I'm not sure how to fix what's happening inside my head and heart right now, but I'm trying like hell. And I'm just going to show up, and get through each day the best way I can. I have so much to be grateful for, I just need to be reminded of that sometimes. 

Impromptu Day Drunk

On Saturday, I went to breakfast with my sister while we waited for K to get out of a work meeting. We decided it would be a good day for a breakfast beer, and so the first went down at noon.

Around 1pm, I sent him a text asking how the meeting was.

Good, he said, about a half hour more. So we paid our bill and left the restaurant.

I got another text that said "just ordered another pitcher; might be a bit longer."

Great. What now? we had time to kill. Seestar and I wandered over to a nearby bar, partly scoping out locations for her bachelorette party which is coming up at the end of April.

We sat down at the bar and ordered two beers.

Suddenly... the Michigan State game came on. Game over.

Six hours later, we had some hugs, lots of laughs, some drunken slurring and some much needed quality sister time in the midst of her wedding planning craziness.

K emerged from his meeting around 5pm. The three of us looked at each other. we had errands to run and grown up things to do, but none of that mattered anymore. We left our cars in the parking garage, prayed we didn't get tickets (K even called the police station to responsibly inquire whether we might. They said no.) and caught a cab back to Seestar's apartment, where her loving and unsuspecting fiancee welcomed us with open arms and a case of beer.

We drank for 11 straight hours that day, and had the time of our lives. I can't remember the last time we threw caution to the wind, relaxed and just enjoyed ourselves. Let's just say that when I woke up the next morning, I had gone on an iTunes binge and purchased "Born to Make You Happy" by Britney, among others.

MOTHER

I'm not a mother. Not yet, anyways. Unless you count chasing three cats around the house. But when I AM a mother, you can count on me not posting obnoxious photos of my offspring on Facebook.

Yesterday, I was on the FB, perusing the goings on of people I haven't spoken to in ten years, when I came across a photo post of a friend's newly potty trained daughter... in front of a toilet.

Really? Call me a bitch, but is that totally necessary? It's cool to be proud of your kids and brag about them and post thousands of pieces of photographic evidence that you can, indeed, reproduce. But the toilet backdrop? A little much.

I think we get the jist of your parental capstones without the visuals.

I'm 29. I guess my maternal instinct should kick in at some point. But I would really like to think I'll have better sense than to post photos of my kids in the bathroom.

Okay, I said I'd LIKE TO THINK. I'm not making any promises.

The time we got drunk and pierced my sister's belly button

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'd like to tell you about the time we got drunk and re-pierced my sister's belly button.

No sappy V-day crap here. (Although I did wake up to flowers and the cutest note ever. But nobody wants to hear about that. Give the people what they want!)

It was an otherwise ordinary night: stuffing our faces with snacks, guzzling orange dream martinis, snorting cocaine off of prostitutes..

Those orange dream martinis must have gotten the best of us, because my sister started showing off her newly toned midriff like a pre-teen Britney Spears. We were all super proud of her, because she's worked super hard and lost a TON of weight for her upcoming nuptials, so we were cheering like boys at a strip club.

I happened to mention how sad it was that she allowed her belly button piercing to close up after high school, and that she would be proud of it now.

She must have concurred, because before I knew it, I was racing upstairs to select a BB ring and slamming cupboards in search of rubbing alcohol. (Totally legit, this piercing operation.)

Suddenly, we were standing in the kitchen; she with her top raised like Spring Break '98 and me with my serious surgeon face on.

And then... it was done. And she had a piercing again! I know I must have been drunk, because I didn't throw up watching it. Now, we are pierced twinsies again.

And so, kiddies, what did we learn on this most auspicious occasion of love day? Don't get drunk and open up a piercing shop in your kitchen like white trash hillbillies.

The Grilled Cheese Diet

I had high hopes for 2013, I really did. But so far, it has been one giant donkey punch. And not the good kind.

It started off with a schedule change for K, to working nights and weekends. And it's a good move, because it means he doesn't have to travel every week throughout the winter. But it also means we see each other for one hour every day, when I get home from work, and we never have the same days off.

Then, I threw my back out (6 days away from turning 29, and I've morphed into a brittle-boned senior). Following that, I got strep throat, and then naturally, K got it, too.

We went to a wedding on Saturday, (K had to take the night off, but it was WELL worth it.) Half way through the evening, one of our best girlfriends said "You two look GREAT! Have you both lost weight?" To which I replied: "Well, we've eaten grilled cheese three days this week, and not much else. So I guess that could be it..."

6 glasses of wine later, I had seven of the table favors stuffed into my purse (donated from our table companions, not stolen) and K and I were dancing like little kids. I told him that this was the first time in about a month that one or both of us wasn't wearing pajamas.

We had a fabulous time, and it was just enough to help me get through this awful winter. I'm counting down the days until he doesn't have to work this shift anymore, and we can resume a (semi) normal life.

How has everyone else's 2013 started off? Please, people, spread the joy!

Stick figures

The car behind me was so close that I couldn't see the headlights. It was 7:13am, and I was on my way to work, enjoying my coffee and singing Justin Bieber at the top of my lungs.

I was going 5mph over, but I sped up just a bit to see if that would shake her. Nope. She sped up, too, eager to get to wherever she was going.

I slowed back down, realizing that I wouldn't be able to make her happy, and waited for her to pass me.

NOTHING. She rode my bumper all the way to the freeway, where we finally parted ways.

And as her minivan rolled past me on the left side, I waved to the five white stick figure people in her back window and gave them the biggest middle finger I could muster.

Have fun at soccer practice, a-hole. And don't forget your Mickey Mouse ears.