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I’m an adult. When did that happen?

It hits me like a freight train at the most random times. Once, it was while I was on my way out the door to a birthday party with my hubby. He was trying to rush me knowing we still had to stop for a card. I said, “We don’t need to stop! I have one on hand!” WHAM! Once it was while loading my Costco purchases into the back of my SUV. I had just purchased 50 SPF sunscreen in bulk and I didn’t even think about swinging into the liquor store while I was there. WHAM! Once it was when I was heading to a happy hour with a girlfriend and I changed out of my heels and into flats because they were more comfortable. WHAM! Last night it was while I was rolling homemade meatballs for spaghetti while watching my little guy play with blocks. WHAM! I’m an adult. And I have no idea when that happened.

Being an adult isn’t such a bad thing. It means I can have tacos for breakfast if I want. (Like, real tacos and not breakfast tacos.) It means I can make frivolous purchases and stay up late. But it also means paying bills and getting up early to get things done. It means making sure my son is eating a nutritious meal 51% of the time and that my clothes are clean when I leave the house. It means changing sheets and cleaning toilets and paying bills.

All the toys in the world, and my child has been playing with this piece of asparagus for 30 minutes. Kids are weird.
All the toys in the world, and my child has been playing with this piece of asparagus for 30 minutes. Kids are weird.

And sometimes being an adult is scary as hell. When the temperature read out on the thermometer reads 104 after I run it across my little guy’s forehead. When I have a mortgage payment due and there isn’t as much in the checking account as I thought there was. Sometimes I just want to be a not-adult and have my parents take care of all the crap that’s too overwhelming for me. But then I realize that I’m the parent now and I have my own guy to envelope when things seem too overwhelming for him.

This is what a sick toddler looks like.

I want to say I still feel 25. But I don’t. My back hurts sometimes, I need my glasses more often than I don’t and I get hungover after 2 glasses of wine. I’m not 25. I’m 38. Regardless of my age, being an adult doesn’t weird me out so much as the idea of being an adult does – the idea that I SHOULD have it all together by now. But let’s be honest… I don’t have it all together. Somedays I’m a downright mess. But I still drudge through each day, adulting to the best of my abilities, eating tacos for breakfast, and occasionally leaving the house in a clean shirt.

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