I. Am. An. Adult.
Has anyone else had this epiphany and after accepting this reality….. promptly had a panic attack?
I am suddenly struck with fear. At the ripe ol’ age of 29, I have realized that I am an adult. Are you fucking kidding me?
When did this happen? When did people start giving me responsibilities? As previously mentioned, I can barely keep houseplants alive. How am I expected to be an adult and keep myself upright and breathing when I can’t even keep a spider plant from keeling over? People trust me with projects, day to day tasks, and occasionally children. That last one should give you the heebie jeebies. And now to find out that I am pregnant with my own mini me who will have no choice but to trust me to care for it.
I am allowed to drink alcohol, and this can’t be safe. For me or the general population. Not so much alcohol recently, but in the not so distant past, I was able to run amok without adult supervision.
I still hate making the bed, but am expected to as grown up behavior. This topic has had much discussion in our household as it is one of Kevin’s pet peeves. I swear I’m doing better at it, if only to keep Kevin from having a nervous breakdown. Our relationship is all about compromise. I make the bed and he allows me to leave baskets of unfolded clothes in the bedroom.
I may be an adult, but left to my own devices, my entire nutritional intake would consist of Laffy Taffy, Toaster Strudels, and Crystal Light.
I barely act my age, and yet have survived this many years with out a parental figure caring for me. I know, its bewildering.
I sit alone in my house and contemplate how the hell I got so far without serious injury, how I have not died of food poisoning or electrocution. I am astonished that I have kept a job for a couple of months, let alone 6+ years. And probably the biggest and most important thing thus far, I found a man who can stand to be around me for more than 10 consecutive minutes. This man… this man should be knighted. Or have a psychiatric evaluation… whichever comes first. He seems to have realized that he is stuck with me. Stockholm Syndrome has never been more beautiful.
Still, being an adult doesn’t come without its perks. I can live solely on Toaster Strudels if I choose. And even though it is frightening that I am allowed to consume alcohol…. it’s pretty fucking awesome! With my mighty adult-like wisdom, I have learned to NEVER press the “reply all” button. I don’t have a bedtime and can still watch cartoons. Being an adult means that you can wear lingerie with coordinating ears/tail/whiskers on Halloween and call it a costume. All of these reasons (and so many more) make the sporadic panic attacks worth it.
This is a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I was just free writing one night after finding out I was going to be squeezing a baby out of my vag in less than 9 months. This was my way of coping. Enjoy.
I got a card in the mail today. I opened it thinking it was a birthday card as I will be turning 29 in only a few short days. As I pulled the card out of its envelope, the baby bump adorning the woman on the front of the card said otherwise. “You’ll definitely be a great mom” was written across the card in a bubbly font. “You’ll definitely be a great mom”….. I stared at the card. For a very very long time. All I could think was “Fuck you card! Fuck you! You don’t know me! You think you know everything don’t you?!?!”
I proceeded to open the card and read the sweetest most heartfelt message from Kevin’s mom. She went on to tell me that she knows it’s hard but hopefully exciting. She expressed how happy she was for us and how she’s there for me no matter what. She ended the message by telling me how much she loves me. I stood there wondering how to reconcile my hate filled rant with the new rush of mushy emotions. I started to cry and put the card on my dresser. I had managed to go a full 24 hours without crying and now my streak was ruined. Defeated, I threw myself on the bed, grabbed a pillow, and cowered behind it…. all the time, staring at that card.
“You’ll definitely be a great mom” stared back at me.
“Shut up you stupid presumptuous card”
“You’ll definitely be a great mom” continued to stare back.
“Oh yea, tell that to the 57 house plants I have killed”
I laid there, glaring at a cute pink card.
“People actually think I can do this….” I thought while peering over my pillow shield. “…but how do I explain the untimely deaths of Charlotte the spider plant and her other 56 family members who have perished while in my care?’
“You’ll definitely be a great mom”
“Oh what the hell do you know you stupid card?”
This is my world right now. Yelling at a card. How did I get here? I mean I yell at my dog, but that’s easy when he decides to chew my coffee table. But a card? What is wrong with me? I know absolutely NOTHING on how to care for a child and I am in a full panic. What if I don’t like it? What if I drop it? What if I accidentally sell it to gypsies? I am kidding about that last one… mostly kidding. I don’t speak “baby”. I am sure I speak dog better than I speak baby. I mean, before I found out i was pregnant, I was really preoccupied with the idea of adopting another puppy. So I guess the universe heard me say “puppy” and interpreted “baby”. Maybe I’ll just give birth to a Labrador Retriever.
Enjoy that visual.
And for all you baby bump stalkers. Here is the proof you need. You can tell our family that your apocalypse shelter was a good investment. The dark one is coming!!
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Needless to say, things have been busy. I have found it harder and harder to write as my days seemed to get shorter and shorter. Before I knew it, I had notes stacked up about things I wanted to write about, but just didn’t have the time. Usually writing is an escape for me. My ramblings make me giggle and help me make sense of the crazy world around me. The fact that some of you like to read along is only icing on the cake. Last night I came across another blog I read intermittently and the author had posed a “challenge”. Write 500 words a day for the next month. No edits, no proof-reading, just write. So today starts my first day. I missed yesterday as I came across the article so late. So be prepared. Remember, I’m not proof-reading so you’re not allowed to judge.
When I think about the biggest thing that has happened since I last sat down to write, only one thing comes to mind. I’M PREGNANT! Yup. You read that right. This bitch is preggers. Now, before you rush to the window to check for flying pigs or call hell to inform the devil he will need a winter coat because hell is about to freeze over… breathe. That was the advice I got from my friends when I found out, so I impart this wisdom on you. You OK now? Good. Now back to the crazy shit at hand. Yep, I am pregnant. I always said that if I were to spawn, the little womb shark would most likely be the Antichrist and was sent to supervise the apocalypse. So if you need to repent, I would start now.
How the hell did this happen you ask? Well when a man and a woman really love each other… blah… blah… blah. I will save you the awkward story you probably got from your parents and just tell you that my birth control failed. NuvaRing, you bastard. So after realizing my period was a couple of days late, I decided to take a pregnancy test to prove to myself that I was just fine and I could stop being an anxiety ridden crazy women. Skip forward 3 hours to me curled up on the bathroom floor, positive test in hand, sobbing my eyes out, and telling myself my life had just ended. Poor Kevin. He walked into the room with a look of pure fear. Sweat pouring down his face. I looked and him and said “I’m sorry”, as if I had climbed on top of myself and gotten pregnant. He sweetly said he was going to help me get off “that cold floor” so I could cry on the couch.
So here we are, 15 weeks into a pregnancy. My tummy has “popped”. Which is actually what people say when you don’t look pregnant, but you can’t zip your jeans. I am in pregnancy limbo, where I may look pregnant one second and the next I look like I ate too much cake. YAY!???? So welcome to my journey. At least I don’t have to suck in my stomach anymore.
This is my most meaningful tattoo to date. #pinkypromise #pinkyswear
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Some days I just want to be a dog. #pressgram
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