At six years old I wanted to be an artist.

When I was eight, I wanted to be an entomologist (person who studies bugs).

When I was ten I wanted to be a comedian, a psychiatrist, and paleontologist.

At twelve I wanted to be a singer.

At sixteen I wanted to be a writer.

Around eighteen I wanted to be a speech pathologist.

At twenty I wanted to be an English teacher.

At each age, I dreamed of what I would be when I grew up. As I now approach my thirtieth birthday, it’s a good time to reflect on who I wanted to be and who I have become. I haven’t painted anything hanging in a museum, sung in front of thousands of cheering people, or written a best seller.

But I am a mom. And each day we create a masterpiece for the refrigerator. We look for an inch worm in the grass. I make my son laugh, I give my husband advice, and I explain which dinosaurs eat plants. I sing the alphabet. I write for my blog. I help my son say “map” instead of “nap” and “may” instead of “can.”

Even though professionally I’m not everything I wanted to be, I’m doing everything I’ve ever wanted to do. And I’d say that makes me pretty successful.ge source