(no subject)
Know what I just realized?
I'm not as weird as I thought.
I'm not a freak of nature for being married at 23. In fact, I have plenty of friends who are married.
Kate Tracy is married. Tani is married (and also has chillens). Tiffany is married. Tricia is engaged. Michelle is engaged. John and Aynara? Engaged.
I also have plenty of single friends who have no desire to date anyone, plenty of friends in serious relationships, and plenty of friends enjoying some fun casual stuff with multiple people. And all of these things are perfectly normal for people our age.
I'm so used to being in a specific, narrow age band wherein everyone I know is doing almost exactly the same thing (in ninth grade, everyone was thinking about the future and learning how to kiss correctly; in eleventh grade everyone was taking tests and freaking out about graduating; in my freshman year of college everyone was trying hard to look as though they were actual grown-ups instead of scared drunk kids) that it's weird to suddenly realize I'm grown and therefore could plausibly be doing anything with my life at this point. There's no natural next step, at least not like there was after I graduated from high school. It's like, once you're a grown-up, you're not expected to be on a certain path at the same time as everyone else in your social circle. I can be married, and at the same time I can chat with my best friend about a guy she slept with last week; I can be poor and doing a shitty entry-level job and yet I can talk another close friend about her awesome job with sweet perks in DC; I can dutifully take my birth control pills everyday, and then put my hand to my church friend's belly to feel her baby kick.
This is it. This is the point where they open the gates and we all go running off in different directions.
...
And it gets a little less scary every time you say these grown-up things out loud. When we first got engaged, it felt so odd to be saying things like "when we're married" or "on my wedding day," because I'd never imagined getting married before. Now I say "my husband" ten times a day and don't even think about how weird that sounds. A few years ago I'd have ripped out my womb if you'd told me I'd ever want to have a baby; now Adam and I talk about trying to conceive (TRYING! As though it's something we'd WANT to happen!) in eight to ten years, when he's settled into his first real parish following his deaconage period. I couldn't have ever dreamed I'd be driving about Youngstown like a fully-fledged adult with no major automobile fears, but here I am, popping off to work in my beat up Chevy Silverado (I own a truck now! A TRUCK. Isn't life incredible?), casually handling the wheel as though I'm an old hat at this sort of thing.
They're ordinary things, these reminders that we're getting older. Gone are the days when I stayed up until 4 a.m.; now I'm lucky if I make it past midnight. I pay the electric bill, the car insurance, the phone bill, and these are the things that make me feel good, rather than a new computer game or a completed English essay. I receive paychecks, which I place into a checking account AND a savings account. I read books on personal finance. I know what a fixed-rate mortgage is. I have my own insurance now- not my parents', but my husband's.
I am filed as no one's dependant, and never will be again, unless, I suppose, my future child supports me in my old age.
And while I'm still as trim as ever (96 pounds, baby!), there are already signs and symptoms in my body of what will be. I'm thickening ever so slightly; my thighs are a little broader, my tummy is a little rounder, my breasts settle a little differently than they once did. I'm not heavier, but I feel...different. Things are shifting about. I get aches and pains in my back, in my legs. There are little laugh lines forming around my mouth, tiny worry lines across my forehead. I don't fall asleep as easily as I once did, but I wake up earlier now, too. And that weird, horrible twinge somewhere in my abdomen has happened (twice in all, now) and that's a feeling you can't forget.
But you know, none of that scares me, because my mother is 54, and she is smart and beautiful and the best person I know.
So I say: bring it on, bitches. I've enjoyed the practice sessions, but now I'm ready for the real trip to start.
I'm not as weird as I thought.
I'm not a freak of nature for being married at 23. In fact, I have plenty of friends who are married.
Kate Tracy is married. Tani is married (and also has chillens). Tiffany is married. Tricia is engaged. Michelle is engaged. John and Aynara? Engaged.
I also have plenty of single friends who have no desire to date anyone, plenty of friends in serious relationships, and plenty of friends enjoying some fun casual stuff with multiple people. And all of these things are perfectly normal for people our age.
I'm so used to being in a specific, narrow age band wherein everyone I know is doing almost exactly the same thing (in ninth grade, everyone was thinking about the future and learning how to kiss correctly; in eleventh grade everyone was taking tests and freaking out about graduating; in my freshman year of college everyone was trying hard to look as though they were actual grown-ups instead of scared drunk kids) that it's weird to suddenly realize I'm grown and therefore could plausibly be doing anything with my life at this point. There's no natural next step, at least not like there was after I graduated from high school. It's like, once you're a grown-up, you're not expected to be on a certain path at the same time as everyone else in your social circle. I can be married, and at the same time I can chat with my best friend about a guy she slept with last week; I can be poor and doing a shitty entry-level job and yet I can talk another close friend about her awesome job with sweet perks in DC; I can dutifully take my birth control pills everyday, and then put my hand to my church friend's belly to feel her baby kick.
This is it. This is the point where they open the gates and we all go running off in different directions.
...
And it gets a little less scary every time you say these grown-up things out loud. When we first got engaged, it felt so odd to be saying things like "when we're married" or "on my wedding day," because I'd never imagined getting married before. Now I say "my husband" ten times a day and don't even think about how weird that sounds. A few years ago I'd have ripped out my womb if you'd told me I'd ever want to have a baby; now Adam and I talk about trying to conceive (TRYING! As though it's something we'd WANT to happen!) in eight to ten years, when he's settled into his first real parish following his deaconage period. I couldn't have ever dreamed I'd be driving about Youngstown like a fully-fledged adult with no major automobile fears, but here I am, popping off to work in my beat up Chevy Silverado (I own a truck now! A TRUCK. Isn't life incredible?), casually handling the wheel as though I'm an old hat at this sort of thing.
They're ordinary things, these reminders that we're getting older. Gone are the days when I stayed up until 4 a.m.; now I'm lucky if I make it past midnight. I pay the electric bill, the car insurance, the phone bill, and these are the things that make me feel good, rather than a new computer game or a completed English essay. I receive paychecks, which I place into a checking account AND a savings account. I read books on personal finance. I know what a fixed-rate mortgage is. I have my own insurance now- not my parents', but my husband's.
I am filed as no one's dependant, and never will be again, unless, I suppose, my future child supports me in my old age.
And while I'm still as trim as ever (96 pounds, baby!), there are already signs and symptoms in my body of what will be. I'm thickening ever so slightly; my thighs are a little broader, my tummy is a little rounder, my breasts settle a little differently than they once did. I'm not heavier, but I feel...different. Things are shifting about. I get aches and pains in my back, in my legs. There are little laugh lines forming around my mouth, tiny worry lines across my forehead. I don't fall asleep as easily as I once did, but I wake up earlier now, too. And that weird, horrible twinge somewhere in my abdomen has happened (twice in all, now) and that's a feeling you can't forget.
But you know, none of that scares me, because my mother is 54, and she is smart and beautiful and the best person I know.
So I say: bring it on, bitches. I've enjoyed the practice sessions, but now I'm ready for the real trip to start.