Twenty Five.

Last Saturday was my birthday. On that day,25 years ago, my mother became a proud c-section Mammy, and I entered the world. I’m sure there have been many times since then that she wishes she had kept the receipt to return me to the midwives, but here we are. At Twenty Five.

I started writing this post sitting in an airport in Georgia, waiting on my connection flight to Seattle. Off to join my lovely man for a week of child-free holidaying. I know, how bold. The child isn’t minding the house by himself though. He’s being spoiled rotten no doubt by his uncles and extended family who have very kindly realised I need a full nights sleep and a holiday! I’m very excited, this is my first time in the USA. It’s my first time out of Ireland further than the UK in SEVEN years. Not that it’s without the Mammy guilt, my heart was very hurt-y that night when I watched the car drive away with E in it, but this will do us both good!

So, this is 25. Half way through my twenties. I can honestly say that if you’d asked me at 20, this is definitely not the picture I’d have painted. At 20, I spent my birthday being rather unwell from food poisoning after a night out. I’d recently had my heart broken. I was starting off my final year of university and hitting a quarter-life crisis which involved applying to a large financial company to become an accountant. Yes, an accountant. What the hell was I thinking?

Five years on, here I am. I’ve a toddler who sings “Let it Go” with great gusto, dance moves and all, at any given opportunity. There’s a lovely man in my life who is very sweet, understanding and fun. He also takes the bins out and is apparently better at bedtime than me (toddler reviews don’t lie). Can’t fight that logic for life going well.

I have had a rough few years – an unplanned pregnancy, a car accident, high blood pressure turning into pre-eclampsia, a back injury that hasn’t gotten the message that it’s not welcome, postnatal depression and a medley of other minor disturbances. I can’t say that this is exactly how I want to be at 25 – life would certainly be much easier without chronic pain, PND and not knowing what I want to do with my life, but it’s where I am. I’m surrounded by an amazing support system – the last few years have definitely shown me who my true friends are.

There are things I thought I’d have done by now- moved on in my academic career, got the JK-Rowling-would-be-jealous book deal, maybe figured out what I want to do with my life. At Twenty Five I was going to have a clear direction and now I’m living day by day, week by week, unsure of what comes next. There’s somewhat of a freeing feeling in that – even if life does sometimes seem to be one big long groundhog day. There is no five-year plan before thirty, unlike the lofty thoughts of my 20th birthday. I’ve learned over the last five years that the only thing that happens when you make plans is that life laughs in your face.

This week I’m enjoying wine, and couple time, and seeing a place I’ve never been before. I’m conquering my fear of down-escalators, and hopefully heights and taking way too many photos. I’m missing my little boy but staying connected over FaceTime and social media. I know that he’s being well taken care of by family who are spoiling him rotten. It’s a new experience and something I’d like to do more of over the next few years!

So, Happy Birthday To Me. I’m sure I’ll bore you some more with the wonderful sights and sounds of Seattle at a later stage. I wasn’t joking about all of the photos! For now though, I’m off for brunch and to enjoy whatever comes my way.

 

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Documenting life on Facebook, if you’re interested.