It finally happened, I am a grown-up. At least I feel as though I should be considered one now because last week I hit a milestone, a major one in my book, I turned 30. I know, I know I have been “grown up” for a while now: marriage, house, babies and a mini-van all qualify you as being grown up. But really I think there are certain moments in our life where we feel like we are finally adults, other than that we still feel the same way we did when we were teenagers or young 20 something’s. At least I do.
Over all I have always felt like me. No categories apply, young, old, teenager, young adult, mom, sister, and daughter. We all have these little categories that we fit nicely into especially in other people’s lives but for the most part we are just ourselves. The closer I got to the day of the 30th birthday the more I began to have these weird little “moments.” I just can’t explain it. It’s not about being “old”; by no means is 30 old, I know this. I think it’s just about how quickly time goes by. At 20 time doesn’t seem to be moving at such a breakneck speed, there is so much ahead of you: careers, marriage, babies, all things are possible. On the day I turned 30 all I could think about was “Where did the last 10 years go?” They flew by. My wedding, a blur, the birth of my children a distant memory at this point ( that’s probably a good thing), dreams I had at 20 a reality now. But where did that time go?
It’s easy to scoff at the idea of being a little blue on your birthday, especially a young mother turning 30. It’s a cliché actually and that makes me even more depressed! I think that growing up we put so much expectation into our birthdays and the older we get the less exciting they are and it’s disappointing. I don’t know, it’s just an odd day for me and to be honest I am sad every year on my birthday ( I can’t believe I am telling y’all this). I am sure a psychiatrist has a very good explanation for this and I would love to hear it. I’ll just put it down to being raised in the South and you all can take it from there.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am happy to have another year to celebrate being here. I am thankful to be alive and well and be a wife and mother to my two little monsters but I as much as I try I just can’t shake “it” on my birthday. I wake up on the day and try to pretend that it isn’t a special day (even though it is because hey, it was the day I was born!) but it still hangs on, that old blue cloak that hangs like a fog. What’s funny is that the very next day I’m ready to go, fog lifted and my usual sunny, happy self. It’s a glitch in my life, the birthday fog but one I’ve come to expect and embrace like an old friend. Surprisingly it comforts me to wake up and find the fog sitting there on my birthday, waiting to hang around all day. I would wonder where it was if it didn’t show up, like a party guest I forgot to invite.
So now, I’m a grown up. I feel grown up when I say I’m 30, just like I feel grown up when one of the children are sick and I know exactly where the thermometer is in the bathroom closet, or when I am cleaning them up after they have the crud, comforting them and making them feel better. I am a grown up when I have finished grocery shopping and manage to get all of the groceries in the house and put away in a very organized fashion and I am especially grown up when I volunteer at the little man’s elementary school and they call me Mrs. Lashley.
But I am still me. I am still the same girl who has always loved to daydream, who can read an entire book in one day, who talks to herself when trying to work out a problem, I still sleep holding on to my “huggie pillow” and I still want my mom when I’m sick. I am still the same me that I have always been whether 3 or 30, maybe just a little wiser with age.