Ok, enough posts for a while about all the poopy droopy sad stuff of life. Let's talk about something we can all relate to:
I joke all the time about being old, what with my gray hair (it's coming in nicely right above my ears - if I cut my hair short again I would totally look like Mitt Romney), and my crow's feet. In all honesty, joking is what it's all about. I love self-deprecating humor, because life is no fun when you take yourself too seriously.
So when I talk about going to college and being the old lady, it's really more about the relatively unseen differences between me and most other students. Their baggage reeks of parties and hangovers. My baggage reeks of an ex-husband and kids who need to be kept alive.
Anyhoo, there is a point in here somewhere. My birthday is coming up. May 7th to be exact hint hint. This will be birthday number thirty-seven. I've never been afraid of aging, I've always been quite practical about that being a part of life we literally have no control over, so why fight it. This year however - this year the thought of thirty-seven feels weird because it's so close to forty, and forty just seems so...
I don't know what it is about that number that causes so much confusion within me. Maybe it's because my parents seemed like ancient forty-year-olds. They seemed so bogged down with being adults that they had no choice but to act like old forty-somethings. Of course raising seven kids in an unhappy marriage might have had something to do with that, but still...
I just don't feel old and that number, the one where doors that were once wide open, begin to close. Like doors for having more kids. Shit, I'm not even sure I ever want more kids, but it's weird that it's creeping to the point where having more kids is becoming less about choice and more about biological ability.
I feel like a kid raising my own kids, that any day now their real parents are going to come to the house, pay me for my babysitting services, and drive me home. The fact that Amanda is nearing the teenage years just blows my mind - I'm not old enough to have a teenager!
I feel like I have a lot of growing up to do before I enter the sacred doors of the forties. If Spongebob comes onto the TV I will literally stop what I'm doing and watch, laughing my ass off at the absurdity of that damn cartoon. My sister Amy once said I remind her of Spongebob, and I swear that's one of the best compliments I've ever had! If I had the money I'd buy the whole Lego set of Bikini Bottom, and if you don't know what Bikini Bottom is you better stop reading right this second and get your ass to Google.
I snicker at the hilarity of hearing a public fart - shit, I even wrote a post about it (which you can read here). I've been known to give the occasional purple nurple to my boy - very gently of course, I don't want to hurt the kid, and when we go out to eat we almost always end up in messy disruptive laughter because we are all little shits together.
So really I'm still not afraid of turning forty in a few years - I'm just having a hard time making sense of what I grew up knowing what that age represented, and what it's representing in me now. In spite of the crap that life has brought to me over the last few years, the crap that's responsible for those gray hairs, I am still very much a little kid whose heart will never truly grow up.
I like that about myself. I love that about myself. It's just that the damn number isn't playing along and it's really starting to weird me out.
Does anyone else have odd issues about growing up?