I’m a college graduate. I had my lovely little 8-5 office job (no, really, it was lovely—I actually enjoyed it immensely). I got married, got pregnant, had a kid. Worked from home, worked outside of home. And throughout all this, I’ve still mostly managed to feel like a perpetual teenager. Well, maybe more a perpetual college kid. Most of the time, even now, I still don’t feel “grown up.” But sometimes I have those moments that make me realize, Hey, I’m actually an adult. When did that happen?
You might think that moment first came when I asked for kitchen gadgets. For gifts. Like, birthday and Christmas presents. That’s right, I do that. Hey, a stereotypical “man” gift is tools for the garage; why can’t a girl gift be tools for the kitchen? But no. Cooking is still a new adventurous undertaking, so asking for presents in that area doesn’t make me feel old.
You might think that moment came when I got pregnant or, if not then, when I had the baby. Wrong again! Maybe it’s just the subconscious realization that young un-grown-up girls do the same thing depressingly often, but I don’t think making a baby makes you a grown up. Taking good care of it, maybe, but not just having one.
That moment of finally realizing I’m a bona fide adult came when Steve took Kara out of the house and my first thought was, Yipee! I have the house to myself! I can do laundry and sweep and mop and do dishes and vacuum and …
Well, you get the idea. And now Steve is gone with Kara once more. The dishwasher is running, as is the washing machine. Time to go wipe off counters and sweep floors and fold laundry and…