The other day, a friend of mine at work was telling me a story about her seven-year old’s sense of humor (apparently he finds his stepdad’s impressions more hilarious than his mom’s dry one-liners). Afterwards, she said, “I have a real little human living in my house… I’m such an adult now.”
I found that so interesting, and began wondering about the times in my life that I’ve actually felt “grown up.” More often than not, I’ve only had a vague sense that life was pointing to adulthood – formal events that conventionally categorized me as an adult, but didn’t make me feel much different.
When I got married, it felt less like stepping into official “adulthood” and more like I was getting to hang out with my best friend everyday. And when I turned 30 last year, I knew the number was significant – but for some reason I still feel roughly 24. When we have kids, I will be interested to see if I magically cross into that place where I actually feel the age I am… Whatever that feels like.
When are we considered “grown-up”? Is it when you leave home for the first time? Is it when you get married? When you have a baby? When your baby develops a sense of humor?
When did you (if you’ve ever) start to feel like an “adult”?
Photo courtesy of Karen Walker.
I am always looking for easy, weeknight staples we both love. And while I’m into Pinterest-y-crunchy-wheat bulgar-with-balsamic-glazed-brussels sprouts-type concoctions, the Mr. typically needs something more hearty and comforting at the end of a long day.
AWEIGH WITH ME 