Earlier this year, I was sitting on my bed, thinking about the future. In just over thirteen months I'll be 30. For some reason, this is a pretty big number for a lot of people, just as is 40, 50, etc.

And I was thinking, "What have I done with my life?"

Well, I have a beautiful son, a great dog and cat, some really fine friends and wonderful family. I'm healthy, and thin and healthy (okay -- this was this summer, but aren't I supposed to be soft at month 6? :)), and have a rich life. So there's challenges we're dealing with. So what? We will make it through and we will be better for it.

I have a degree and beyond in a field I love. I experienced it, enjoyed it, learned from it, and then had a son.

I have a great house. It needs some work, but it's a good home.

I have a great life.

But what else did I want?

By 30 I wanted:

-- To have another baby.

-- To have published at least one story.

-- To be a better wife and mother.

-- To be a better "homemaker" (at a loss for a better term).

-- To work on a foreign language (Latin at this point).

-- To continue to be healthy.

Well, here it is, I'm not 29, and I have another baby coming, I've published the story, I'm a better "homemaker" (domestic goddess?), spent some time with the religious texts, have spent some time with Latin, and am healthy.

So what's next?

My heart knows what's next, what it wants. But it's afraid to verbalize it.