I turned 35 years old on my last birthday, and what I have figured out over the last few months is that this age is STRANGE.
It’s the age in which you are caught in a hybrid of young-ish and old-ish.
It is the age in which you can still play Wiffle ball with your kids but wake up with aching knees.
35 is singing along to Kidz Bop one minute and then screaming, “From the windowwww to the wall” the next.
It is reminiscing with friends about wild house parties and all the beer you drank, while drinking coffee at a child’s third birthday party.
It is trying to raise kids to be successful adults, while still trying to figure out how to be one yourself.
It is the era of the two-day hangover.
35 is saying things like, “Close the door. We aren’t cooling the neighborhood.”
It is actually listening to your mother’s advice.
It is being a tad jealous of the twentysomethings and their perfect bodies at the pool, but being proud of your battle scars and droopy skin from childbirth.
35 is date nights spent talking about the kids.
It is waving at your friend over a grocery store aisle, kiddie pool, or school drop-off line because you have no time to stop and have a conversation.
IT IS EYE CREAM.
35 is wishing your babies would go to sleep, but then staying up and looking at pictures of them.
It is being there for friends who go through struggles of anxiety, infertility, divorce, or depression.
It is finding a community at work or church or in mom groups.
35 is FINALLY getting a girls’ night out, only to long for your home and babies.
It is the age where a grocery trip alone feels like a vacation.
It is the age of self-discovery, self-discipline, and self-care.
It is asking your husband if he wants to “Netflix and chill” . . . LITERALLY.
35 is a rollercoaster. It is full of learning, and experiencing, and adapting. It is full of love, and fun, and laughter.
35 is busy, and hectic, and tiring, but 35 is the age I get to build my family and my life, and I am loving every minute of it.
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