So, I'm in my thirties now...

I remember my mom when she was in her thirties. I remember her as a young, vibrant, funny, creative, and caring mom. At the same time, she was a sage. She knew it all and always had the answers. I remember her tearing up one day while we were watching Little House on the Prairie. She told me she was jealous that Mrs. Ingalls always knew the right things to say. I was too young to really talk to her about this, but I remember thinking to myself, what is she talking about? She does know exactly what to say.

I turned thirty last July and now as my thirty-first birthday approaches, I am beginning to feel antsy. It is certainly not that I am feeling depressed about getting old. I guess in a way, it is the opposite. I still feel so young. My mom must have felt young also. She was thirty-seven when she was diagnosed with cancer. She died when she was thirty-eight. I know my son is a lot younger than I was when my mom died, but I am sure I will still feel like he's a baby when he turns ten.

When my son was born I felt like I finally felt the kind of love my mom must have felt for me for the ten years we had together. I always knew my mom loved me, but I felt it when I had my tiny newborn in my arms. Now, as I am getting ready to turn thirty-one I feel like I am beginning to understand what she must have felt like as she became ill and was dying. It was clear that my mom never wanted to leave me, but this solidifies it -- she must have felt tortured to think that she had to leave me. It must have been so hard for her to get sick. We had a busy, active, and fun life before she became ill. Everything changed then, forever.

I want my thirties to turn into my forties, not come to an abrupt end at thirty-eight. I have made some important changes in my life to try to make that happen. This motherless mama does not want her son to wonder what it's like to have old parents.

Bring on my thirties!!!!