At the wise age of 18 I remember thinking that by 25 I would be married and shortly after have a baby on the way. When I hit 25, I still felt like I was 18 and although I had been dating the man I would go on to marry since I was 23, I didn’t feel old enough to be married let alone contemplating having a baby. The way my life turned out, I married at 28, had a baby at 29 and then yesterday, 13 days later, I celebrated by thirtieth birthday.

How I celebrated my birthday yesterday is probably no different to how my 18-year-old self envisaged the day. I started the day as a ‘dirty thirty’, was still awake at 4am and enjoyed the day as a lady who lunches. Not that my 18-year-old self would have been comfortable with ‘dirty thirty’ meaning cleaning baby vomit off my entire chest at midnight or being awake at 4am for yet another feed or being a lunching lady with my daughter in the parents room at the local shopping centre giving her a feed before quickly devouring some sushi myself! And yet, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Spending the day with my daughter (and of course my husband) was the best birthday gift I could have been given. No matter how tired I was, how many times I had to change my clothes or how many dirty nappies came my way; every precious newborn cuddle was worth it. While at 18 I was busy socialising and celebrating that I could legally enjoy an alcoholic drink I wouldn’t give up the celebration of being able to breastfeed my baby or spending time socialising her. I always thought 30 would be a terribly daunting age and that I would feel really old but in reality I am the happiest I have ever been. I am comfortable in my own skin and feel like life really does begin at 30.


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