Wednesday, 4 January 2012

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As my twenties draw to a close, I feel surprisingly much better about it than I ever thought I might. I have gradually realised that anticipation is far worse than the actual event and, given that there is fuck all I can do about it, accept that it is inevitable and actually enjoy it.

As the clock turned midnight and 2012 arrived, I stood there with my husband, completely sober, for what must have been the first time since I turned 16, and realised that the year had come that I had dreamed about for years previous. You don't dream about turning 28, but, as a little girl, I often wondered what 30 might be like. And, I always thought and hoped I might have a baby at 30. And now here I am, on the eve of turning 30, 25 weeks pregnant. 

Later on that evening, husband and I stood together in the quiet peace and quiet of north London, in the middle of the road, watching the fireworks go off across the whole of the city. They were at once right in front of us and yet, tiny in the distance. Which is exactly what life feels like at the moment.

To celebrate 30, we are heading to Bath next weekend with our family and some of our closest friends, for a joint celebration with husband's best man, who was 30 yesterday. We have, for the past 8 years, had joint parties. In expensive cocktail bars in west London, overpriced nightclubs in Notting Hill (25), dinners, house parties and with various themes, mostly fuelled by large amounts of alcohol. Of all the photos, these were the only ones I could find of me on my own, safe for sharing.

Turning 28 in Stockholm/ 26 in London





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