I turned 31 yesterday. I didn’t weep or ponder my wrinkles or dwell on the fact that I’m a decade over 21 and no longer get carded (though I have complained about that lately). What does this 31-year-old have to grumble about?! I have a happy, healthy toddler, a caring, hunky husband, two families (the Grevers’ and the Chandlers) who shower me in love regularly, friends to check in on me and a God who loves me beyond what the human heart can comprehend.
But some days all I see are unfulfilled dreams, deep crow’s feet, a saggy butt, and ever-stretching distance from the “glory years”. My alter-ego loves to mull over what’s wrong in my world. My toddler is actually the perfect microcosm of my moods. Sometimes, she smiles and laughs at everything. Then she realizes there’s no more mac n cheese and her world begins to crumble.
During a recent freakout that involved a whiny pleading of “more grapes!!!!” I empathized closely with my Skylar. Grapes literally were the most important thing in her life at that moment. They were what she was looking forward to and the supply dried up too soon for her liking. Expectation did not match reality. And her expectation was all that mattered in that moment. How often does that happen to me? Daily. Hourly?
In the early breastfeeding days I was exhausted. So sick of being a human pacifier. My mom reminded me, “Annie, this is all Skylar wants in life right now. It’s what her day revolves around.” And she was right. Milk is a big deal/THE biggest deal to babes in the early weeks. Their world scope is in perfect proportion to their teeny tiny toes.
Some days, all I want in life is for Matt to read my mind. And when he doesn’t, I’m mad. Mad enough to throw grapes at him. Or I just want Skylar to simply obey. I am her mother. I know what she needs. Why can’t she accept that? Maybe because she’s not yet 2, Annie. Sure, I may not have as many tantrums externally, but internally, I’m kicking and screaming. And when I stop to consider why my resentment or annoyance is so quickly morphing into anger, I realize I need a reality check. I need James 1:18-20.
I like to think my perspective on global goings-on is expansive, but it’s not. My world is still small. It’s my family — it’s mostly Skylar (sorry, Matty). I turn on world news during Skylar’s dinner biweekly, then I sob through tragic stories told and swear off watching it for another two weeks. I was a journalism major…current events used to be my thing. Now the only current events I track are which classes my toddler is registered for and what my husband’s weekly practice schedule looks like. I don’t even meal plan. That’s too much for my plate to handle.
At 31, I’m not a Sports Illustrated writer, a counselor, a massage therapist, a small business owner, a photographer, an Olympian, or a nutritionist. All careers I once thought might complete me. But I’m wife to an adoring husband, mom to an adorable daughter, a child of a King who blankets my shortcomings in His grace. I’ve never felt more fulfilled. These are the glory years, tantrums and all. Bring on 32.
Comments
nice to rrad annie!!