I will be 30 years old when I get married.
“Oh my god. Is this bad, is this bad?”
“You got a f***in dart in your neck.”
Lemme start by saying that I don’t think 30 is actually old. It should be 30 years YOUNG. If you don’t believe me, just watch 13 Going on 30 and feast your eyes on Jenn Garner, as she styles her hair with pencils. However, since I have friends my age who are celebrating 7-year (yes, SEVEN YEAR) anniversaries I think you all can understand my feelings.
Before you judge me, my budding crow’s feet and high-waisted pants, let’s make one thing clear. I realize the consequences of the timing. It’s true, I’ll be married at 30 and subsequently a 30-something mother and no, I suppose it’s not idyllic. However, I’m acknowledging these things and trying to embrace them. Sometimes, life aint pretty:
I know that our photog will have to use her filters and blurs all over our mugs. And that I will not be able to party until 2 am. I know I will have to work out like crazy and can’t rely on a young, rapid metabolism to get me in shape. Gone are the days of being 22 and entire loaves of bread dipped in Gold’n’Soft. Say la vie.
Since 99.9% of my friends are happily wed, I will be among the stragglers. The people who come to the party , like, 3 hours late. Already drunk, donning a stretched out halter top from Old Navy and smudged mascara.
To be completely honest with y’all, there were times I thought it would never happen. I feared I wasn’t worthy, deserving or ready. I pictured myself a living Cathy comic, minus the cats.
Being a 30-year-old bride means slight adjustments that I wish I didn’t have to undergo. But it also means a wealth of really awesome stuff too.
- We no longer po’. College loans are paid off, credit card debt is non-existent. I’m not tied down to grocery-store generics, jeans from JcPenney’s or having to wait for the semi-annuals at B&BW (even though I still do).
- My tastes have progressed. Gone are visions of a hot-pink affair, with rhinestones, zebra print and tiaras. I’ll pass along those ideas to the folks at My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.
- Thanks to a pretty awesome life so far, I still basically feel like a kid. Evidence: I would willingly see Disney on Ice…or really anything on ice.
The most valuable? I feel that I finally know what I want in the love department and otherwise. I’ve been single, I’ve been in a relationship. I’ve ignored red flags, made killa mistakes and stayed in bad situations too long… rough pumpkins. I sowed them wild oats and made a quilt (wrong kind of sewing…).
While the pros of marrying young are plentiful, so are the pros of marrying a bit later in life. I’m 100% all in. Would 24-year old Natalie have been so sure? That would be a loud and resounding HELL NAH.
It was scary to reinvent myself again and please excuse my use of the word, too much Lifetime . I’d like to think that bravery played a part in all this, because 3 or so years ago, I hit ctrl+alt+delete on a life I knew and moved to Wyoming to re-boot m’sytems. Enter Bryan.
Around Bryan, I can be 100% me. Pure, unadulterated Natalie (pulp-free of course). I can sing Legally Blonde the Musical in the car really loud including hand motions in his FACE. He fetches me pink glazed rainbow sprinkles donuts from Top Pot (maybe this is not a good thing). He teaches me how to talk with a southern drawl and we hold lengthy conversations whilst using our Lew-siana accents, discussing imaginary situations “down on the bayou”.
I have found my “mullet” of a spouse – Bryan is business in front, party in the back and after a decade or so of searching, I have found my leading man.
So, we may be sporting a few fine lines, astigmatism and softer mid-sections, but it’s nothing a little Oil of Olay and the right medications can’t fix.