OK Universe, you got me!

very funny, Universe, veeeeerrrry funny.

I have joked in all seriousness over the years that I still wake up in the middle of the night or in the morning once in a while wondering "who is this man in bed with me? what's going on here?" That actually just stopped recently, and I was relieved but also contemplative that it must signify some sort of maturation turning point for me.

The other night, I told Andrew about my theory, and we ended up having a really great heart-to-heart about all sorts of things, including the revelation that I sometimes don't really feel like an adult, despite being married with two kids. I have daily battles with myself about what kind of homemaker/housekeeper/mother/wife I am or am not, but I honestly haven't settled into "adulthood" in any sort of significant, intentional way. So, what does being an adult mean to me, anyway? I'm married. I have given birth twice. I am a full time mother. What's not adult enough about those things?

An obvious possibility is the lack of home ownership, but I really don't think that's it. The current housing market is just plain sad, and renting is presently viewed as not only perfectly okay, but actually wise in certain areas - like ours.

Another potential piece lacking from my adult puzzle is having a career outside the home. Yeeeeeah. I never got anything off the ground in that department. I don't have anything to "go back to" once the children have been raised. I try not to carry any shame about this, which is easier sometimes than others. I was at a dinner party recently where I ended up talking to another young (and now I question that adjective) mother of two who is an attorney. I ended up telling her that once upon a time I was certain that I wanted to go to law school but that I had essentially chickened out. She asked why, and I stammered through some mash up explanation of my 20-something fear of cutthroat academic competition - legendary in law school, so I hear - and my general fear of commitment. I do remember being really freaked out that if I studied my ass off to get into school and then hated it, I'd be worse off than not having gone at all*. Questionable logic to say the least. Fear of commitment? Come on, Janine. Is there a bigger commitment than getting married and having kids?

*Holy tangent, Batman.

So anyway, I pondered about all of this until I fell asleep and then picked it back up in the morning. It lingered with me and my thoughts throughout the day as I picked up toys, wiped runny noses, and cut up fruit for little hands & mouths. That night, as I regarded my new haircut in the mirror, there IT was.

My first gray hair.

That pretty much says it, doesn't it?