|Gratuitous baby pic|
When I look at my friends' pictures on Facebook, and I see them hugging and snuggling and playing with these little babies, I think, when did we get old enough to have kids of our own? What happened? Weren't we just graduating college and getting our first jobs and going off to grad school and failing to give up our bad habits? Drinking too much, sleeping too little, and eating whatever we happened to have in our poorly stocked refrigerators that day.
That JUST happened, right? No?..
At some point in the last 7 to 10 years I guess I grew up ... some. I mean, I'm just 30, not like I've got it all figured out. But I did manage to buy a house, and find a pretty awesome husband, and graduate-- twice. (Well, technically I've graduated four times in my life if you count 8th grade graduation, which I should, considering what a miracle it was that my mother didn't maim me several times throughout junior high.)
But I often feel like a stranger in my own life. Or an observer. I find myself looking around and saying, "this is not my beautiful house!" "This is not my beautiful child." "My God, what have I done?!"
I swear, there are still mornings where I wake up and think, did I really have a kid? Is she still here? Or did someone much more responsible than me finally show up and take over? Someone is going to come marching in here one day and declare, "This woman does not even wash her SHEETS on a regular basis, how is she going to raise a child?? And have you seen her fridge?! Apple juice, ketchup, and Chianti does not a meal make."
Well, that's not entirely true (I don't keep Chianti in the fridge, who chills red wine? And who buys Chianti anymore?). I don't really doubt my parenting abilities that much. I've done alright. At the end of the day, I love that little monster more than anything else in the wholewideworld. And because of that, I know I will mostly get it right. Where it counts. The love is too big to fail.
It's just that I feel so young. And this, dear readers, is where you get to see how vain I really I am. But I don't feel young because I am just SO drop dead glamorous; I just feel like the time has flown by so fast that 21 was not that long ago. 23 was like last week. And now I go to bars and the young waitress doesn't ask for my ID and I'm thinking, ummm, HELLO! Aren't you forgetting something? Maybe she thinks that we have a class together or something because she is taking a HUGE risk here. Huge.
Ok so I'm not in my twenties anymore. That's ok. It really is. I have decided that I am not the kind of person who approaches their 30s with fear or dread. 30 is the new 27, that's what I say. 30 is fun and sophisticated. It's young enough for well-fitting jeans, but old enough for a little stretch in the waistband. It means being mature enough to say, "Yes, I wear Spanx and no, this isn't my natural hair color, but I'm going to do what I like now because the list of people that I'm still trying to impress is dwindling, and I am comfortable just being who I am. I am simply too old and unwilling to try and be anything else."
Which reminds of this song ... haha ... Happy Birthday, me!