Younger Now
Every now and then, it just kind of hits me. I’m a grown up.
It seems like not very long ago at all I was wiling away the angst-filled hours in my bedroom, pouring out dramatic, bad poetry and short story after tragic short story with a big fat happily ever after at the end. All to the tune of Tim McGraw and a forbidden Chumbawamba song.
Now, here I am.
It’s hard to believe that I’m all grown up and married. I’ve been married for seven and a half years. I’m expecting a baby…and it’s the fourth one. The fourth one. That’s a lot of babies. I have a credit card. And a minivan. I spank people and send them to their rooms. I keep doctor’s appointments and home-school a kid.
I’m pretty sure I’m, like, bona fide.
And yet it all sometimes seems so unreal. I have to confess, though, I prefer now to then. It’s easier.
“I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” Bob Dylan
