I remember my birthday parties vividly from childhood, with friends from school splashing in our suburban New Jersey pool and unrolling sleeping bags in the basement. The shrieks of laughter mixed with the eerie scratching noises coming from the walls, making for a thrilling atmosphere. My siblings played mischievous pranks, but as I looked at my friends—those who seemed so clued-in to everything—I realized they were having a blast. And the cherry on top? A shiny plastic chainlink necklace with clip-on charms just like everyone else, plus an off-the-shoulder shirt splattered with neon handprints.
I was 10.
August 1995
Fast forward a decade, and I’m visiting my dad in the hospital after clocking out from my perfume factory job. I now have my evenings free since I quit my telemarketing gig—my supervisor had sweetly told me, “You’re lovely, Jessica, but you need to sell.” Dad’s dealing with a kidney infection, a welcome diagnosis compared to the mysterious illness that had left my mom unable to tie her shoes the year before.
Today was a big day; I bought the tan 1983 Dodge we’d been eyeing, paying cash—$1,000 carefully tucked in an envelope that reminded me of the ones Mom used for grocery shopping. I couldn’t wait to hit the road for campus in the fall, take my roommates to Boston, and yes, even the mall.
I was 20.
August 2005
Now at 30, the heat is oppressive, and I catch a glimpse of my round, flushed face in the mirror. My belly stretches one of the few maternity T-shirts that still fit. Three years ago, my husband and I fell in love with an old Colonial house, charming in its white and black aesthetic, but lacking air conditioning—a detail we overlooked in the chill of December.
I’ve left my high-powered law job behind, which I firmly believe contributed to my infertility. Now, I’m a stay-at-home mom, waiting for my baby to arrive. I sit in the nursery, rocking gently, watching my niece and nephews play with toys beside the empty crib—soon to be filled. The doctor says three weeks, but little do we know, it will be nearly five before our bouncing baby boy makes his grand entrance: very large, very late, but thankfully safe.
I was 30.
August 2015
With no air conditioning still, I take my laptop to the porch, hoping for a breeze as I write amid the chaos of being a mom. My kids are growing fast; the youngest heads to kindergarten soon. My 30s have been a whirlwind of motherhood—wonderful, exhausting, and relentless.
Yet, as they grow and become more independent, I feel the pull to celebrate rather than cling. After all, this is what they’re meant to do. And I see myself growing, too—growing more whole and less frayed from pouring myself into my children for the past ten years.
I am 40.
As I reflect on these birthdays, I’m reminded of the joys and challenges that each decade has brought. From childhood fun to the responsibilities of parenthood, each phase has shaped who I am today. For anyone looking to explore family-building options, resources like Resolve can provide valuable insights, while Make a Mom offers excellent tools for those considering self-insemination. And if you’re interested in more about insemination methods, check out this post for additional information.