Perspectives on Adulting

Adulting is hard. Adulting with children is like climbing up Mt. Everest with one arm, in a bikini, and smoking a pack of Camels every 500 ft.

I said this a year ago today. Thanks, Facebook. Appreciate the reminder of how exhausted I am. 

And adulting with children AND a full-time job with mega responsibility is...I don't even have the energy to come up with a witty analogy. 

Yea, this shit is way hard. And  I am definitely having a mid-life crisis and letting my idealistic self kick the shit out of me and my every-day life decisions. How can you live with yourself being away from your children on business trips? Why do you have such a potty mouth, and how can you question why your 4-year old talks like a trucker? Must you get so snippy with your husband when he is hands-down the greatest husband you've ever had the privilege of being married to (and the only, but you get my point). Why must you pick up the toys (unclog the toilet, answer that last email, cry in the bathroom) instead of sitting down and reading a book with one of those children who are absolutely the greatest things you have done in your 40 years? Why do you drink so much goddamned wine? 

Because it's my life. It is what it is. 

From my entitled upper-middle class white lady lips to your ears.

But it's certainly not as hard as being a single mom with a full-time job and living on welfare in a terrible part of town and wondering what might happen to your kids at school every day. And it's not as hard as terminal illness. Or a million other things that I can't even fathom. 

I definitely have perspective. I feel like a bona-fide asshole complaining about this wonderful, insane, hectic, life we've built. And yet...

Ringing any bells? If so, I invite you to come along with me. Again. Ten years later, wiser, maybe not so much for the better. But whatever. It will be fun.

P.S. Special shout out to my anonymous and not-so-anonymous encouragers to start writing again. I already feel 1,000 pounds lighter. You know me well. 


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