Life Imitating Art

For some reason, I figured that being married and having kids would protect me from the fear of getting older.

It hasn't.

Intellectually, I realize that twenty-seven is not old. But emotionally, I feel like I was seventeen when I went to bed last night and I don't know where the last ten years of my life went. In less than three years I'll be thirty. THIRTY. Family aside, I can't keep the nagging question out of my head; what am I doing with my life??

One of my favorite books (and movies) is Julie and Julia. I love it for many reasons. I feel like I can really relate to Julie Powell. Spoiler alert: I'm an aspiring writer with a blog! I love to cook. I'm prone to meltdowns and melodrama over very minor things, like accidentally buying a head of cabbage instead of lettuce, something I'm sorry to say happens to me more frequently than one might think. One of the best parts of the book (and I stress book because Julie Powell was portrayed as a much sweeter and patient person in the movie...believe it or not!) was Julie's relationship with her husband, Eric. I'll put it this way; It's nice to know that I'm not the only person who alternates between thinking her husband is the greatest thing that ever walked the Earth, and wanting to throw something sharp at his head. It's actually very comforting, if you want to know the truth. 

But most of all, I feel like I relate to Julie because I see thirty looming in the not-so-distant distance and I find myself thinking (okay, obsessing) about how I had a list as long as my arm of goals, and I really haven't accomplished much. As far as my personal life goes, I feel like I've accomplished the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest. I was never someone who talked about how much they wanted to get married and have kids...because I didn't. Enter Josh, who never tried to change my mind, but did anyway.

But enough mush.

Marriage and kids weren't a goal, but they are an accomplishment, insofar as I haven't messed up either too terribly just yet.

But what about those goals of mine? Here's the thing about becoming a parent. "My" kind of flies out the window and is replaced with "Us". This is all fine and good, and your family should come first, but what happens to our own things? Because here's the thing. Once upon a time, Moms were people too. We were fun and spontaneous, and didn't care if there were dishes in the sink or if the laundry got done. We didn't necessarily want to change, but unless you're Britney Spears, you can't go out every night and ignore your children for extended periods of time. Mundane things become vitally important. Routine is your new religion.  In fact, if you listen really closely after the birth of your first child, you can practically hear the slow, painful death of your former self. Okay, maybe that was a bit dark for a blog, but I swear I'm not trying to be cryptic or cynical. I'm just trying to figure out how to focus on the "Us" without completely losing sight of the "Me". Unfortunately as a mom it's easy to feel selfish when you focus on yourself for more than ten seconds. It's wrong, but it's easy.

So here I am, like Julie Powell, feeling older but not necessarily wiser. Accomplished, but not accomplished at the same time. Wondering how old I'll be before I feel like I have a handle on everything, and like I'm not running myself ragged going in ten different directions at a time.  The difference between Julie and myself is that she figured it out and I am most definitely still working on it.

I can, however, guarantee that I won't spend the next year creating five hundred and some complicated french dishes. I'm crazy, but not that crazy.