Today heralds the last day of my thirty first year on this planet. Tomorrow I turn 31 – an age which seemed ancient to a much-younger me. Today I defend that age as being still young and hip. Also I have come to realize that when you round up 26 to 34, the answer is 30. So I still have a couple of years to go before experiencing the crisis of being closer to 35-40 than 30.
My thirtieth year was an exciting one to say the least. This time last year I was planning my wedding – a time which seems so far away now, considering how many things have happened since then. I got married to the love of my life, went on the honeymoon I always wanted, moved out of my mother’s house, quit my job and changed country for love, settled down in England, found out I was pregnant, and now have two months to go before meeting Baby Farrugia. Listing it down like this, I can not believe how it all worked out, and very well at that!!
It was also the year I changed my hair colour and stuck to being a brunette for the first time in over ten years, found more than one greying hair and eventually learnt not to panic that much and eventually learnt how to properly wash and straighten my hair into a presentable do. I also surpassed my expectations and have surprisingly become a half-decent cook, have stopped burning dishes and the annoying fire-alarm has not made itself heard in months now! During this past year I have also learnt to let go of the family bonds I was so entwined with, without perhaps realizing it until I left The Rock, I have left my dearest friends and made new ones, people whom I would have no chance of ever meeting, least of all befriending, in Malta. And perhaps the most valuable thing I have learnt this year is being less selfish and realizing that the world does not evolve around me alone.
Tomorrow will be the first proper birthday I spend with A, ever since he moved here to England because I have not managed to be with him on the day for the past three years. Nothing special is planned, but being able to cuddle up to him on the sofa watching tv with a cup of tea, is more than enough for me. Add to that a back rub, some cooing over my tummy and getting a kick from the Little One – what more could I ask for?
All in all, turning 31 should not be that bad.