Today I turned 30, something I’ve been fretting about for the past few weeks. I know I’m only a day older, but those fat numbers have made me look back at the 10 years that have sneaked past and wonder what the next 10 will bring.

A few days ago, Greg and I talked about our expectations for our 30s. Since Greg turned 30 last year, he has been convinced that this decade will be better than his 20s.

“We’ll have more disposable income, and we’ll still be young enough that we can enjoy it,” he said. “Once you get to 40, then you really start to get old.”

I know quite a few people over 40. I wonder if they realize they’re too old to enjoy life.

“So it’s just all downhill after 40, huh?” I asked. “That means I’ve only got 10 years left.”

Greg assured me that life wouldn’t end at 40, either.

“You’re only 30, so you’ve still got another 70 years to go,” he said.

“But apparently 60 of those will be miserable,” I said.

“That will make them seem even longer,” he said.

Well, how’s that for a happy birthday? Given the alternative to growing old, my slide toward decrepitude shall continue.

Greg and I played Scrabble last night. I won the first game, and he won the second.

Greg: “Well, that worked out well.”

Sarah: “How do you mean?”

Greg: “We each won a game.”

Sarah: “I don’t think it worked out so well.”

Greg: “Why not?”

Sarah: “I wanted to win both games.”

Greg: “Can’t you share?”

Sarah: “OK, Greg, let’s share. It’s your turn to let the baby suck on your nipples.”

Greg: “Oh, come on!”

He beat me again tonight. I’m still waiting for a nipple to appear.

A few days ago, I sent Greg to the store without a list. It’s almost always a mistake to send him without a list, but every time I hope that he’ll take the initiative to look through our recipes and pick out a few. After this many years of marriage, I should know better.

The day after Greg’s trip, I assessed our fridge. I saw that he had bought hamburger buns to use with the ground bison we already had in the freezer.

“Greg, did you buy vegetables to go with the burgers?” I asked.

“I thought we already had tomatoes,” he said.

“Yeah, we do. I meant for a side dish,” I said. Greg furrowed his brow, but said nothing.

“You know, those things you put next to the burger on the plate so that when you get tired of eating red meat, you can have a bite of something green or yellow or orange,” I said.

“Why would you ever get tired of eating burgers?” Greg asked. I sighed. This was a lost cause.

“There’s some canned cranberry sauce in the pantry,” Greg said helpfully.

He’s a regular Julia Child, this one.