Yep. I'm now 31 years old. A great whopping 31. It doesn't feel nearly as tragic as 30, but it's nowhere near as exciting as birthdays when I was in my 20's. Now it's more like:
"Happy birthday!" (a well-wisher)
"Meh!" (says me)
This is combined with the knowledge, discovered a few days ago that I am also pregnant. Most likely I'm about 3 weeks pregnant. Totally wasn't planned, and in terms of family planning has some rather horrible timing. But then again, maybe the timing will be better as this year rolls along. Maybe some things will smooth out. I'm trying to be hopeful.
We're almost positive it will be a girl, which makes me happy. Her name will be Gianna Victoria because my husband's best man Giancarlo died in a car accident on the day of our religious wedding. (He was in Panama and we were in the U.S.--he was the best man of our civil wedding.) And Victoria because she was conceived on the day that Panama beat the U.S. in the Copa de Oro. (Granted, they lost the second match against the U.S., but they played a great game then as well.)
Actually, I was kinda sorta rooting for the U.S. team among my Panamanian family members, so I guess the Victoria part comes more from my husband than from me.
Anyway, so here I am, 31 years old and pretty much have the whole year planned out now (I guess) because this will be a baby year. <sigh> And here I was, hoping that this year would be professional development year, and "year of the brilliant teacher" year. And maybe the year of "sexy, good-looking, get my act together and maybe buy myself a new pair of shoes." (The latter is rather difficult to accomplish when pregnant--except for the buying of new shoes part. Usually flats.)
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