There’s a strange juxtaposition of admiring and mourning the old, whilst preparing for and anticipating the new.
I have foolish notions sometimes. The thought of “Oh dear, we never made it to Napa.” The realization that three-day weekends in Germany won’t be as possible. “As” possible – because really, we may still do them…but we should adjust our expectations to the understanding that parents just don’t do that.
I sometimes think we, our group of friends, are too old for all this. All this typically being the nights when we take shots and drink far too much and stay out far too late, and pay for it in a day of misery the following morning. We are all in our late 20s, early 30s. Surely, the occurrence of booze-fueled vomiting, mysterious wounds, and sleeping a day away for recovery is increasingly less frequent. Surely, the likelihood of anyone getting a DUI is nonexistent. We are not foolish college kids, reckless high school students. We’ve been in the real world, holding real jobs, and are all established adults by now. But, alas, that’s not the truth.
Then on the other side, we expect to seamlessly transition from our free-spirited unburdened selves into responsible, mature parents. How does that happen? I’ve stopped researching trips to Napa and vineyard trails, and started researching breastfeeding and cloth diapering. Gone are the slightly hungover workdays, replaced instead by pre-natal vitamins and 120 ounces of water. I still fret my unhealthy diet, no longer for fear of getting fat, but instead for fear of insufficiently supporting my growing progeny.
I sit here, in the quiet of an early morning in my childhood home, balancing the two opposing mindsets. The person who still wishes to deny adulthood’s approach, and the person who is eagerly awaiting the changes adulthood shall bring. Shall the twain ever meet? They must, in May.