Tomorrow I will officially be closer to 40 than 30. Well, technically that happened about six months ago, but you know what I mean. I won’t be able to call myself “early thirties”, and I will only be able to tag myself as “mid-thirties” for a little bit longer. And I’m OK with that.

When I turned 30, one of my best friends wrote “Like a good bottle of red wine, you get better with age” in my birthday card. I’ve not forgotten that. I will cherish that comment as if it’s the last compliment I will ever get.

I think that the excitement to be found in life increases with age, if you let it.

This time last year, we were travelling the Gibb River Road in the beautiful Kimberleys of Western Australia. My husband, my 2 young daughters and myself in our 4.5metre off-road caravan. I blogged about some of that in these posts: “Normal, Funny, Strange… Recap of my last day as a 34 year old”  and “Bohemian Me”.


Now the kids are a year older and wiser (and I’m hoping I’m the same) and our gypsy caravan days are over.

We now have a 2 (almost 3) year old who continues to amaze us every day with her stamina in body and mind (read in highly spirited). She is the funniest, cutest thing with a personality that I never imagined would belong to a daughter of mine and I love her so much for surprising us with that. And we have a 5 year old who is currently obsessed with archery. O.B.S.E.S.S.E.D. I tell you. So strange. So cool. God I love my girls. Capital L for Love and moon and back stuff.


We are now well and truly settled back in Sydney. In between work and pre-school and making lunches etc et al,  we are reliving our travelling memories from the photos on the walls.


Becoming a mother during the year I turned 30 meant that my thirties has largely been a rhapsody to my children. No regrets there – what a thrilling adventure it has been. Being a mother really is the stuff of action thriller stories, isn’t it? Sleep deprivation; rollercoaster emotions; unexpected vomits; near-death experiences for children await at most corners (although I am more the free-range parenter type, I admit there are foreseeable accidents most hours of most days); moments of totally losing it vs moments of  tear-jerking joy.

If anyone was ever to ask me what it is like to be a parent, I think I will tell them that it’s like before, but now you have an audience for EVERYTHING you do. Whatever you need to do or want to do, you have these little people wanting to watch or join in or object. Sometimes that can be great. It means that the joy in doing what you were going to do is increased 10-fold. Sometimes it means you end up tickling and laughing instead of ironing, which is how it should be I think. Sometimes it’s shit. Literally.

ANYWAY. Back to me being the birthday girl and everything.

I asked my husband if he any pearls of wisdom as I march through my mid to late thirties (he is now out of the 30’s game, so surely he would know). He replies: “I’m without wisdom. I’ve got nothing”. That’s uncharacteristic for my charismatic husband. I told him I still love him and that it’s OK that he is really dull and boring tonight, but come tomorrow morning – my birthday – things better change. {Of course I didn’t say that. I said that in my brain. But you know. The whole male and female communication thing can be tough.}


Right now as I type this, sitting beside my husband with our his-and-her laptops, sipping a nice red, in the comfort of our warm home with one child asleep (miracle it’s this early!) and the other watching TV (I’m not telling how many hours she’s clocked up today, but she’s wearing her eye patch so I’m chalking it down as stimulating her neural pathways)… I’m thinking that life really is sweet. Yes, I think it does get better with age.

Elisha x

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