It’s All About Birthdays

Today is my baby brother’s 18th birthday. That doesn’t seem possible. He could be drafted. He can vote. He’s legally a grown man. Of course he’s still not old enough to have a fucking BEER if he wants to… but that’s a rant for another day. How in the hell did that happen???!?!

But this post isn’t about his birthday, because he would not appreciate me blogging about his birthday. Teenage boys are wierd like that I think.

It’s about mine.

When I was thinking about this post I was going to make a joke about it being my Golden Birthday – which would make me 17. But that joke wouldn’t fly too far, because 17 year old girls today don’t look like 17 year old girls did back then. Nowadays I swear those girls all look like a plastic surgery success story.

Ayhoo… back to me. I realized in thinking about this that it has been 10 years since I was 17.

Ten. Fucking. Years.

How in the hell did THAT happen? I mean really – when did I turn into a real life grown up? I don’t feel like I’m closer to 30 than I am to 20. I don’t feel like “here I am, wake up sister, this is your life”.

I still feel like, a lot of times, I’m trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

I still feel like I’m cute and fun and…

… just not this old.

And it’s not even the age that gets me. Because, come on, even I know that 27 is not “old” by anyone’s imagination (except, of course, for my 18 year old brother’s). It’s just that – when did this happen? It’s… when I look around me and see two kids, two cats, two car payments, two mortgages, two houses… 7 years of marriage… 7 years of parenting…

It’s like I fell asleep in the car again and someone just woke me up to say “we’re here!” and I’m just trying to figure out where exactly “here” is and how in the hell the last ten years flew by and I missed it.

I am NOT going to miss the next 10. If I have to crank up on energy drinks to stay awake for the whole ride – I’m going to stay alert and pay attention and help drive. Or at least, navigate.

I mean… that’s what REAL grown ups do. Right?

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About the Author: Becky