What I know for sure is that I might not be a grown up.

So, I hate to shock you, but I’m pretty sure that I am only marginally qualified to be an adult.

You see, it occurred to me recently that I spend several moments of nearly each day wondering how on earth I have become what regular society considers grown up. I mean, let’s get real – the fact that it’s not state-mandated that I be consistently supervised by someone more adult-like is sort of a marvel, and also speaks to broader issues facing our nation today. To be fair, though, I have CB in our home to help out with things that require any semblance of patience or reading directions. But then he lets me go off to work on my own and my bosses trust me to do stuff related to my job! It’s nuts.

Also, we talk about having kids one day, which not only mildly terrifies us both, but also terrifies my wilting, geriatric eggs (thanks, science!) into being like ‘Please don’t pick me.’ Which they should know by now just makes me want to pick them out of spite.

I’m going to be a terrific mom.

But then I got to thinking: is it just me or is part of being a grown up simply pretending to be a grown up? Also, when do you start to feel like one? Do you have to sign up for a class or something or are these moments I’m experiencing on a near-daily basis just part of the grand master plan to trick kids into listening and following directions so our world doesn’t completely implode?  

Here are a few examples:

-The other day I found myself wandering around my apartment looking for my phone, even going so far as to open the refrigerator just in case (it’s been known to happen.) And after about three frantic minutes of being like “My phone ran away!”, which seemed like a pretty reasonable assumption, I realized that it was in my hand that was waving around in panic. And then I looked around and started laughing to myself like a crazy person because these are the things that will get me put into the home in fifty years when my resentful kids are sick of my “quirks."

-I have no problem eating an entire sleeve of Girl Scout Cookies while binge-watching old episodes of a show I’ve already seen just because I can. Which I must admit is a pretty awesome bi-product of adulthood, but also sort of maybe negates what an adult is? To be fair, I don’t have good boundaries with food and so I typically just don’t have stuff I like in the house. Otherwise, I’ll literally eat until my stomach hurts and then CB is like “No seriously, one human person shouldn’t consume that much non-food in one sitting.” And then I get mad at him for letting me eat an entire bag of jelly beans because he knows I can’t stop on my own. 

This is more or less how I
feel at any given moment in a day.

Not surprisingly, these are similar conversations I used to have with my parents when they’d find wrappers strategically hidden under my bed because I was bored-eating while reading the Babysitters Club series out loud to my pretend classroom. What?

-Even though I’ve been performing the act of shaving my legs for more than two decades now, I am physically unable to not cut myself on that one spot behind my knee and also on the side of my ankle. Was there a class on shaving that I missed? Are these parts of your bodies that, for evolutionary reasons, should be fuzzy to, like, keep me warm? Because I’m pretty sure the skin that exists in those two spots is baby skin that keeps having to grow in every week or two when I’m like “Oh, I’ve totally got this” and then a little trickle of blood runs down my leg and I’m like “I do not have this” and curse in the shower and then wince as the hot water hits the cut. And then do that exact same thing the following week. Am I doing shaving wrong? Isn’t this something that should’ve kicked in by now? 

-I have pretend conversations with Oprah in the mirror. Like, I’ll be doing my hair in the morning as I get ready for work, and in the middle of blow-drying I’ll start to imagine what sorts of questions she would ask me if I were a celebrity. I mean, it gets involved, you guys.  

Until I realize that, um, grown-ups don’t play pretend? Also, I’m completely making this one up unless you guys can relate. In which case, I’ve got the answer to her patented “What do you know for sure?” question nailed, if you need tips. 

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So is it just me, or is this just part of being a grown-up? Does anyone feel like an adult out there? 

Happy Wednesday, everyone!