Age IS just a number, right?

Posted on | May 2, 2012 | 2 Comments

This morning, I listened to Inner Circle on my way to work.  For those of you who can’t or won’t remember the 90s, they’re the band who sang that delightful “Sweat (a la la la la long)” song that I used to listen to on repeat with my best friend in high school. 

I put that on and instantly found myself in a bright green Ford Escort, dancing like crazy with a Winslow by my side.  It was… awesome.  I forgot about the car seat in the back, forgot about the bills stacked beside me that needed to be paid, forgot about being over thirty and over tired and over worked.  For a moment, for a song, I was seventeen… carefree, fun, angst-ridden but joyful. And it felt really good.

Yesterday, I got an email from a college friend and in it she said (and I paraphrase) that she loved her family but she’d give anything for a few days of “Carefree” again… and I agreed.  Being an “adult” is the strangest thing.  I look in the mirror and I see myself for who I am, a thirty-something mom of one… an attorney… a woman.  But when the mirror is gone… when the child is out of earshot… when work is on the backburner… I am still seventeen.  Still twenty-three.  Still the same silly, inappropriate, sometimes funny, always sarcastic, crazy girl who likes to jam out to ridiculously crass rap songs and who giggles when people say the words “fart,” “penis,” or anything that could possible be construed as a variation or reference to either.

I have to wonder if there’s a moment, some distance in the future, when I will wake up somber and sophisticated.  I have to wonder if my 97 year old grandmother feels the same way I do: if she wakes up and lies in bed thinking “I could be seventeen today if I just keep my eyes closed.” I have to wonder if there’s a moment when you just become… grown up.

Because if there is, I’m not sure I want it.

I like being able to roll the windows down in my car and feel my hair whip across my face.  I like turning the radio up as loud as it will go and pretending to play the guitar on my seatbelt.  I like pushing the grocery cart really fast and then jumping up on the side to coast for a moment.  I like getting down on the ground and pretending to be an animal with my son, scraping my knees on the dirt or rocks.  I like racing him to see who can eat a popscicle the fastest or who can spin around longest before falling down.   I like to sing lullabies in strange accents.  And you know what? I still like to dance… a lot.

I guess I just like being “juvenile.”

I like feeling like I could still be seventeen.

And if that’s wrong?  If that’s not how every “grown up” feels?

Then I don’t want to ever grow up.

Comments

2 Responses to “Age IS just a number, right?”

  1. Kate Sluiter
    May 2nd, 2012 @ 12:29 pm

    I so blogged about this before too.

    I am with you. I KNOW I am 34 and an adult. I was 9 when my mom was 34. And what I think of my perception of her then? Is NOT what I feel like I am now.

    Like you, when I am not in front of a mirror, and I am just being me…I’m the same as I was at 18, 23, 25, and so on.

    I keep waiting for the adult thing to kick in.

  2. Julia
    May 2nd, 2012 @ 2:11 pm

    I so get this. I so often feel like a 16 year old who just happens to have a mortgage, a son, bills, a marriage, and, you know other life stuff to deal with. But I still don’t see myself as a grown up. Yes, I so get this.

  • Creative Commons License
    Spilled Milk (and Other Atrocities) by Law Momma is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
    Based on a work at http://www.law-momma.com.
  • Twitter

  • Enter your email address:

    Delivered by FeedBurner

  •  


  • Grab my button for your blog!