it's crazy that
a short essay illustration on the difference between 29 and 37, in my white-girl mom life. it's crazy.
Just found this brain dump that I wrote on January 19th, 2017. This is: 2 years married, new house, no babies, no [diagnosed] anxiety. What a world.
It’s crazy that I’m almost 30 and just moved into my first real actual house, that I own 50% of.
It’s crazy that other women who are almost 30 have 3 kids.
It’s crazy that the internet lets people who are not-yet-30 own and run businesses.
It’s crazy that there’s a company that sells trash to people. [No, like actual trash.]
It’s crazy that one of my best friends is pregnant, when just last week we were ridiculously intoxicated weaving our way through Blacksburg to our apartment. Shoeless. Hashtag college, #amiright.
It’s crazy that we left a car unlocked by accident the other night + someone "broke in" and only stole the loose change in the ashtray.
It’s crazy that I used to be able to drink a whole bottle of Andre in one sitting and now can barely handle 2 glasses of wine.
It’s crazy that Jared Kushner is only 6 years older than me.
It’s crazy that Emma Watson is younger than me.
It’s crazy that sometimes these kinds of facts knock me on my ass, and other times I couldn’t give two poops about it.
It’s crazy that last time I went to the Gyno, she waggled her eyebrows at me asking if I was “trying” yet. Like, yeah. I try. TO BE A GROWN-UP, DAILY.
It’s crazy that people hire me to make websites for them.
It’s crazy that less than 10 years ago, I wanted to: be a powerful woman in the technology field, own approximately 847 “suit separates,” 158 pairs of shoes, and climb the corporate ladder.
It’s crazy that in college, they only ask you what you want to DO. Not who you want to BE, or what you want your LIFE to be like. Why?
It’s crazy that I have a dog that I treat like a human and yet cannot comprehend having an actual small human in my house.
It’s crazy that despite that last one, I possibly / hopefully / probably will have a tiny human eventually taking up space and making messes in my currently-immaculately decorated and well-kept home.
and now, this.
Fast forward to mid-to-late-thirties. Finding that was really something for my emotions. Partly because a lot of it still tracks, like the 2 glasses of wine thing, and my concerns over being asked what we want to do or what role you want to have, but not dream up what life could look like. Also dog I treat like a human.
Now, I find it crazy to think about how many children surround me. My own, my neighbors, my college friends, MP’s college friends. It’s beyond cliche to say but truly it feels like last year we were all childless, drunk, at a beach house meant to hold less than half the souls we crammed into it. Now? I have to be seriously incentivized to vacation in a place where my children will not have their own room.
Now, I’m 37. I’m already making plans in my head for a 40th birthday bash, what kind of fun dress I could wear, and how I want to invite everyone I’ve ever known to celebrate being alive and medicated and healthy and safe.
Now, my house is definitely being made a mess of. But also? I don’t care as much as pre-30-year-old me thought I would. Choosing battles is something I am very good at now. Setting boundaries is something I am getting better at, and am world’s better at doing so now, than in my previous decade.
Now, people still hire me to make websites but I don’t love it as much as I used to and my current season is involving way more childcare and way less solo-business-ing than maybe I’d like, or at least than I anticipated.
Now, I’ve admitted to myself that I want to be a writer. And I want to make money doing it, if only because capitalism says I’m not officially a thing or officially doing a thing until I make money doing that thing. Capitalism is dumb but it’s the system we’re in, and I’ve been well trained. I like purple hair and expensive leggings and taking my boys places and one needs money for those things, usually.
It’s crazy that “it’s crazy that” is such a good writing prompt that I could go on and on about what’s so crazy about this life and this reality and this everything.
if you also feel like this shit is all so crazy, I’d love your support! You can support me by subscribing either for free or upgrade to paid for benefits like more essays, chats, and the entire archive of snarky memoirs. Also my eternal love, isn’t that good enough for you? When I was your age, we didn’t have love!
kloveyoubyeeeeeee
