Cold. Piles of blankets on the bed at night and ice on the windshield in the morning. I have finally switched to hot lattes at Starbucks instead of my normal iced caffeinated addictions. Sometimes I can see my breath and it makes me feel like a little girl, a jumbled ball of excitement and anticipation and magic. It hardly seems real at times that I am an adult. A(n almost) wife. A mom. God, a mom? I still want to write Christmas lists and stick them up on my parents’ fridge. I want someone else to do my laundry and force me to get out of bed on time in the morning. I still need someone to remind me to put on my coat and not wear flip-flops when it’s raining.
I’ve been living on my own on-and-off since I was 18, but I’m still always a little secretly bummed out when I realize the pantry hasn’t magically re-stocked itself and the carpet hasn’t magically been vacuumed and no one is going to give me a $20 bill and drop me off at the mall for a few hours. I’m still such a kid, I swear. I feel like I missed something, somewhere? Some secret Being an Adult class that everyone else must’ve taken? Somewhere where everyone else learned to manage a house and finances and relationships, how to balance a full-time job with homemade dinners and quality playtime? I must have been too busy lying in bed and reading Harry Potter during that class.
Fake it til you make it, right? It’s working out so far. I’m doing good, I think. And—niggling feelings that I’m going to be called out as a fraud any day now aside—I really like being an adult. The toys are way cooler on this side and I have a huge, supercozy bed, and a cute boy to snuggle up with at night and an even cuter baby boy to play with all the time and no one can ever, ever make me eat beef strogannof or write a five paragraph essay again. Being an adult is awesome.
But there are moments where I want to put glitter in my hair and read Seventeen magazine and eat nothing but cheeze-its all day. I’m so afraid Cris is going to realize he proposed to a 12-year-old girl and have second thoughts.
I mean, seriously, that’s not even legal, you guys.