On 30

Today my son is 30.

At 30, there is no hiding from the idea that you're an adult, that the torch has been passed. It's the last "interior" milestone. Subsequent age milestones are exterior, relative-- a co-worker who doesn't have personal recollection of a significant historical marker outside of history books, a president your age, a president younger than you.

Your oldest child turning 30.

It's not a Chinese milestone. The Chinese acknowledge just three birthdays: 1, 10, and 60. The ones in between are just time you spend figuring it all out.

Seng started trying to figure it out before he was even born, dipping a toe in and pulling it back. After four false labor starts, the goddess took things into her own hands and broke my water. It still took him almost a day to get going.

Once here, he still wasn't convinced it was a good idea. He cried for 5 months. And then that was it. He pretty much had it figured out by the time he was 10. You never met a sweeter toddler. He's spent the subsequent years as a cautious and sweet-hearted child, youth, and man.

At 30 you are who you are. I wish I had realized this when I was 30. Of course, when I was 30, I became a mother, which throws everything you knew about yourself into chaos.

What is Seng like, or more to the point, what does he think he is like? A little cautious, with an unconventional view of ambition that means he wants to do what he wants to do. This might make him famous, or rich, but if it doesn't that's okay. He's loyal and loving, but now finds himself navigating this idea that love and loyalty might not work the way he thought they worked.

I don't mean to be sad on his birthday. All my children's milestones make me sad these days. It's hard to know if that's because it's so bittersweet for your children to grow up, or because he'll be reaching new milestones with a family he's trying to figure out all over again.