(Blog Challenge #3: When did you know you were a grown-up?)
You would think I would have realized I was a grown-up in moments like these:
*Pushing Eloise out of my pachina. (Am I obsessed with child-birth? Maybe. I just can’t stop marveling.)
*Doing the Heimlich maneuver on one of my preschool students. (Little turkey had swallowed a penny. Thank God, I’d gotten CPR certified the week before. The Heimlich is different for little ones, people. Take a class if you don’t know how to do it.)
*Signing my name on the marriage license that legally committed Brakes to me forever. (Yikes!)
But in all honesty, in each of those circumstances, I was faking. I am no more grown-up now then I was when I felt oh-so-grown-up as a hot-shot sixteen year-old tooling around in a beat-up convertible. In fact, I used to worry that my boss would one day realize he’d hired a child to shape young minds, or that it would suddenly dawn on Brakes that his wife spent an inordinate amount of time day-dreaming and playing house.
Now, I don’t worry so much; I quit my job (so no boss to concern myself with) and it occured to me that Brakes knew exactly whom he was getting when we wed. I am the girl who throws tantrums during long-car rides, thinks her birthday lasts the whole month, secretly still believes in Santa, and loves him with the intensity that only the un-jaded can manage. It is okay that Brake’s wife is still not a grown-up because he has been a grown-up since he was born. With my imagination and his sense of responsibility, Eloise should make out just fine!
(Oh, no! The above sounds awfully introspective; is that the wisdom of years talking? Nah! I’d better go though; it's way past my bedtime.)
Here I am with my favorite playmates: