On New Years Eve of 1989 I broke into inconsolable, near-hysterical, sobbing just because the decade was changing and I was afraid of what the 1990s might bring. In my defense, I was nine and the 80s were all I’d ever known at that point. Dates on a calendar seemed like a big thing to mess with in my already not-so-stable childhood.

I had NO such compunctions celebrating the big 2000. My parents wouldn’t let me go out, just in CASE the Y2K thing caused panic in the streets… so my fiancé and I drank sparkling cider and talked of all the new decade (and millennium) might hold for us. After all, the double 00’s saw us getting married, graduating college, becoming adults. So much to look forward to… in a completely abstract, not-at-all-informed-nineteen-year-old-girl kind of way. Plus, there was all that kissing to be done in order to ring in the New Year right. What’s not to be excited about?

Celebrating the New Year this year was funny; gone is the terrified little girl or the idealistic and giggly teen. Ringing in the new decade this year was a reasonably assured, only mildly neurotic, woman who is also a wife and a new mom, sleepy as can be, holding her sleeping daughter, cuddled next to her husband and best friend, sipping a glass of champagne and watching a movie. This year I didn’t dread the new decade or go into it with a bunch of lofty goals or resolutions; instead I just looked at Jason and Marcail’s faces and thought, “I’m so lucky.”