At least, I don’t feel old, or mature, or responsible enough to be a mother, and a job keeper, and a manager and an example for others. What I mean is, when did I start being an adult?
Now in my mid-thirties, I see younger people looking at me the way I looked at my aunts and uncles when I was a child. They were old, they were mature, they were adults. When they said something, they spoke out of wisdom and if they would have a laughing fit, I was surprised that adults behave that way too and let themselves go like that. Simple fun, however, was reserved for children. And the process of education and aging would lead to becoming an adult, at which point you can make serious decisions, worry about real problems and be concerned about others whom you bear responsibility for.
So, I never really figured myself having evolved to that stage. In fact, the way Willem and I joke around I don’t expect we’ll ever be the icon of maturity that I always figured adults were, and I would someday have to become. A sigh of relief actually, because according to my previous descriptions, “adulthood” seems synonymous to boringness.
Willem and I are anticipating the day that our children will look at us and be embarrassed by our childish behaviour. We also suspect Naomi will be smarter than us and poke holes in our adulthood at a young age, realizing her mama and papa don’t know have all the answers and make plenty of mistakes still.
I guess all parents go through that, and all children need to come to the conclusion themselves that we’re all human. But I don’t hope to be as serious as that I always thought ‘older’ people had to be. Maybe the old is in the fact that you have make more big impact decisions; that you have responsibilities that go beyond just one person; and that you have to have to balance give and take for the long-term well being of relationships.
Man – that sounds old!
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