“You Can’t Come in ’cause you old as shit….
Not in the general sense, ’cause I’d tear that ass up,
but for this club…” — Knocked Up
32 isn’t old. I realize that. I know I have another 8 plus years of good solid uterus/baby making time and thanks to some decent genetics, even longer before my wrinkles become noticeable. That said, there are days, like today, when I feel old. When I stop myself and feel, well, “old as shit.”
One of the best/craziest things about sending Baby-Ko to a day care that a) I went to 30 years ago and b) that my friends send their kids to as well, is that: a) I went there THIR. TY. YEARS. AGO. and that, b) my friends send THEIR KIDS there! My friends have kids? Since when??? Walking in to day care and seeing the son of a girlfriend who I literally had cocktails with last week, sort of grounds me… well, floors me really. (I’m pretty sure we were just talking about which is like, OMG, the hottest guy and like, what she was wearing to “the popular girls” party”).
On top of it, I just hired an afternoon helper/ nanny to pick Baby-Ko up from Day Care on long work days… Her name is AC and she’s a sweet girl. And I can say “girl” because, well, I think I could technically be her mom. She’s 19 years old and darling. So sweet, so responsible, and soooooo young. But when we went to go pick Baby-Ko up from Day Care (in her car, as she sort of “shadows” me), and “Boom Boom Pow” by the Black Eyed Peas came on, it took everything I had in me not to shout, “Like, OMG. I love this song. Let’s blast it.” Instead, I quietly hummed and discreetly bopped my booty on the seat.
As I held back my urge to tell her that my mom was, like, being such a bitch and I’m, like, soo not going to class today (mommy and me class, that is), I wondered when I will officially be old. A few months ago, my potential for all things Yenta reared it’s ugly head during a staff meeting. But I have since felt young and lively. I haven’t worried about my age or where I’m going and what I’m doing in a while…. But sitting next to AC, and forgetting that we are nearly 14 years apart, I wondered when it all might catch up with me…. When I will have no choice but to hand over my skinny jeans (which she and I were both wearing) and shop at Talbots instead of Brass Plum…. When I will stop knowing (and caring) who’s who and listening to Ryan fucking Seacrest… When will I grow up?
I’m certainly in no rush to cross the mom jean threshold and cut off all my hair. In fact, I love being a young mom and feeling sometimes that I actually have no business being one yet. It’s kind of empowering, kind of surreal, and definitely, like… way cool. In many ways, “I’ve got it all going on” right now… The prime of my life really. I mean, AC may look like a cast member of The Hills and get past the velvet ropes at H-Wood faster than I can say “No Nitrate Hot Dogs,” but, can she recite her favorite Sesame Street scenes and get IN DA CLUB …. I think not….