So today is my birthday. Why am I writing on my birthday? Because I love it.
Birthdays have always been a time of reflection for me, much like New Year’s Eve for most people.
I feel old. Let me clarify. I don’t think I’m old and don’t think I ever will. I enjoy every year more than the last. I had my oldest at 23 and my youngest at 26. I’ve always felt “old”, because since I had children, people think I know things. Wrong. Also, my kids don’t know what the Snorks are and think Fraggles are boring. What the hell? I’m failing as a parent if my kids don’t like Fraggles. Kids don’t know why you save a document by clicking the blue square because they’ve never seen a disk, and my youngest teaches me functions on my iPhone. For these reasons, I feel old.
I thought I’d be an adult when I was 18, then 21, then when I got married, then when I had kids. So far, I still don’t feel like an adult. I have adult responsibilities but I still have no idea what I’m doing. I feel like at any moment, someone will figure out I’m a fraud. My children will determine that I don’t have all the answers and they certainly did NOT come with a manual. My bosses will figure out I am totally winging it. I may be successfully winging it, but making it up as I go nonetheless.
Everyone, at least once in their lives, finds themselves puking outside Denny’s after a night at the club, being comforted by drag queens, right?