Well I woke up today another year older… I’m not one who looks forward to or really dreads birthdays. I’ve never placed much stock in them. Partly because I hate being the center of attention… I’d much rather have a small casual get together with a few people than some big overwhelming hooha any day! But I also feel like – it’s just another day. I woke up drawing breath. That’s a gift from God everyday. Why should that make today any different? But being the weirdo that I am – I love making a big deal out of other people’s birthdays. So explain that one to me haha 😉

In spite of my normal lack of interest in my birthday… this year is proving hard for me. This year I’m officially 30 years old. It’s not that I’m 30 that’s bugging me. I could care less about the number really. You are only as old as you feel… I’ve said it for years and I’ll continue to say it. And with people like my Grandma Rose and Ryan’s Grandpa George, who both still are hardworking people in their 80s – I wholeheartedly believe it! The real reason is that I’m officially 30 and our life doesn’t look like what we imagined it would… and that’s a weird place for me to be…

See, growing up, I was never the girl who planned her life. I didn’t dream of my perfect wedding. I didn’t have plans of what I was going to be or where I would live or anything like that. I didn’t have plans because I didn’t want them. I think most girls start thinking about their future in junior high and high school. But those were really hard, dark years for me. I had a difficult time seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. And I’ll be honest with you guys… I frequently wished to end it all. Obviously – I didn’t. But you can see how a girl who’s not sure she wants to continue to live is probably not a girl who would sit and plan out a future. Let alone have expectations for it.

Obviously being the introspective person that I am, that has caused me to sit here and think… when exactly did that change for me? When did I become that person who had plans for the future? And really I think it comes down to the day Ryan and I decided to start trying to have kids. The minute we made that decision… our child was already born in our hearts. We started dreaming of what our perfect little family would look like. We imagined having at least three special little ones in our future. And five years have passed and we have yet to meet a single one of those perfect little children we’ve held in our hearts.

So it’s not so much that I have plans I guess, but I had hopes… For 64 months, I’ve lived and loved children who have not been born to me yet. Each month, for 64 months I’ve hoped and believed that God would finally bless us with the child we had been praying for, wishing for, hoping for. And now, at 30 years old I find myself greatly saddened and heartbroken that our dream has yet to be realized… at no fault of our own.

So I’m sad this year. Not because I’m older. Not because I hit another decade. But I’m sad for what hasn’t happened yet. I’m heartbroken for 64 months of dream babies that have gone unborn. I’m grieving for all the moments we’ve missed out on with these children we’ve only been able to hold in our hearts the past five years. I’m upset about what being 30 means for our window to conceive. And to be honest, guys – I’m angry and frustrated and tired. I’m tired of the insensitivity and the heartache and the hurt. I’m tired of having to be happy for everyone else, of having to act like I’m okay when I’m falling apart inside. I won’t lie – getting out of bed the past three days has been a huge accomplishment for me. And not melting into a puddle of tears in front of people equally so.

And I know that you all want me to end this post on a positive note… Like I usually do. But the truth is – right now – today – I can’t…