There was a time this past month that I was certain I was with child. Eventually a test proved me wrong but I couldn't make sense of this weeping. All. The. Time.
Not just when it's appropriate, like seeing a tiny baby wearing a baseball hat. Like always. Colbie Callait songs (Why do I try so hard?!).
Crying about crying to Colbie Callait songs.
Firefighters saving pet hamsters.
Tiny chipmunks racing across the street.
And then there were hot flashes. I tried to figure out if I was with child or just making really poor wardrobe choices (like how do you really know it's sweater weather? You roll the dice and wear a sweater!).

I consulted Siri (really helpful!) and my cousin who happens to be 11 days younger than me with two kids.

It's not time to have kids especially since I don't have health insurance and live in a tiny apartment. But half of me wanted to be so these symptoms could be explained. How do you go from being semi-normal to being Rita Wilson from "Sleepless in Seattle?"

Well, I guess the final explanation is that I'm thirty. And no one told me that this is just what happens.

Feelings. All of them. Sometimes at the same time. All tiny things including tiny forks make you a little insane. You are always seconds away from being a weepy mess.
It's time to have kids and it's time to have 17 of them. For a person who always constantly needs a plan, that has been overridden. If I was pregnant today, I would be terrified and incredibly excited. And that never ever existed before. This epiphany will hit you when you're minding your own business in the shoe aisle at Target and your eye will catch something tiny. Then, cue #1.
Staying in pajamas and organizing the closet has never felt so good. Natural high. And it has officially replaced capturing that real good hair and makeup by taking a real good photo on a Saturday night.
Indigestion. Without warning. For no reason. "Avoid spicy foods and laying down after a meal." Doesn't apply. Plain oatmeal for breakfast gives me heartburn. So does oxygen.
I actually refer back to Pinterest and make things, like dinner and scarves and my own shampoo.
Skinny jeans make my knees ache. And I don't want to talk about it.
One day you'll be sitting on the couch and your partner will tenderly reach out to brush a hair off your cheek and realize it's connected to skin and you will want to die. And your partner will be genuinely intrigued by this tree branch growing out of your face and you will run to the bathroom and Rita Wilson all over the sink.

With a body that is constantly changing into a new one, and feeling like there are too many similarities with that radioactive ooze creating the Ninja Turtles, there are perks. I have less of a tendency to put up with nonsense, in the fact that alone time has become incredibly important and more important than collecting a pile of friends eager to fill up their social calendar. I don't need anyone's permission to make choices, mistakes, big life decisions, when I thought I absolutely did before. My body maybe turning into a cartoon mutant turtle, but I've never felt so alive, in tune to what I want and need, and aware of who and what is good for me and who and what the universe put in my path to teach me a lesson on patience and love. And sometimes Paul is so scared of my crying spells that he buys me sushi and wine and gives me "hormone balancing advice" from Dr. Oz.

This life is a wild ride, friends. What do you guys got goin on in the 30+ department?