I had to take a break from the Disney World posts to share a sad, sad realization that I have come to.
Here recently I have found it has become increasing difficult to deny the fact that I'm an adult. For so long, I found myself in situations when I was buying or selling a house, making a decision about a preschool, purchasing life insurance, spending the night in the hospital with my child, wearing the vomit that put my child in the hospital, and etc, there has been this overwhelming feeling: "I really don't feel like I'm old enough to be handling this, shouldn't my mom and dad be at least watching over my shoulder to make sure I'm doing it right"? More recently, those thoughts have shifted to, "how did I get to this place". Very recently, a conversation that I had with Emma drove the point home and I declared it official. I AM OLD. There is no someone that is 70 being older than me. No Freshman or Senior status. We all have to feed our kids, pay the bills and be concerned with what's going on with our government. WE-ALL-ARE-JUST-OLD. Deal with it and move on. In a way it's a liberating realization as I no longer have to fear getting old. But, this conversation deemed it official and that there is no turning back.
I'm pretty certain that I should be in therapy over the fact that I find it liberating to be self-deprecating the way I do but there is something so freeing, to me, to know that I've set low expectations of myself. Like I said, "in need of therapy". But, none the less, I shall share one of those stories that I really should keep to myself. But hey, life is nothing if you can't laugh at yourself right?
Emma was supposed to dress up for career day at school the other day. Now, even though I would never choose another path for myself, I put up a strong resistence to Emma simply wanting to go as a mother. Now don't get me wrong, I think the job I'm doing is the most important job I'll ever do. But I found myself tossed around in the throws of wanting so much more for my child than what I am. This really isn't the sad part. It actually was very sweet. So after offering up every career that I could think of, every costume in our dress up box: doctor, dancer, teacher, pirate... She was set on being a mommy. So we decided that this would be the one exception that she would be able to take a baby doll to school. And then came the decision of what to wear. And this is how that conversation went.
Me: Now, we must figure out what you will wear. We could grease your hair up, put on a pair of yoga pants that you really shouldn't be wearing and send you barefooted.
Emma: [Looks at me in her typical, come on mom look] Hey, can I wear one of your fancy dresses that I use to dress up in?
Emma: Why not?
Me: because they are not dresses, they're night gowns (IE lingerie)
Emma: Oh, well then why don't you ever wear them?
GRREAT... I'm that mom.
And, to add insult to injury, she wouldn't even wear an apron saying, "why would a mom wear an apron? That's what a cook wears".
She settled on a simple shirt with a feux camisole underneath, a pair of blue jeans and tennis shoes and a non-greasy ponytail. Which I must agree was so uninterestingly me. I guess I've managed to pull it off well enough to make her want that life. I have a sneaky suspicion that she has no plans of wearing an apron either but, is quite certain that she'll wear tons of fancy night gowns. I was too, when I was six.