How old am I, again?

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Some days I feel old, old and motherly. I am married. I work full-time, 8am to whenever, five days a week. I pay bills. I have a delightful mortgage. I cook. I clean. I do laundry. I wipe noses and butts. I change diapers. I give baths. I fill sippy cups, and I answer to the name Mommy, a million times a day.

Then there are days, I wake up, and I think, “My God, what has happened? I can’t really be 31! I’m sixteen. OMG! How did I get here? Whose house is this? Why am I in bed with a strange man and why are two little people pulling and tugging at me, calling ME-MOMMY! For crying out loud, I am still in high school. I can’t even legally vote, and I just got my learner’s permit. Is this my penance for watching Big one to many times? I had a mad crush on Tom Hank’s. Come on, who could resist that hair?

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My fingers could have got lost in his hair…

I find a closet, and go bumming, before strange man with stubble, wakes up. To my dismay, everything in this closet could belong to my mother. Tops and Blouses all symmetrical, skirts all A-line and knee-length. Pants are pleated and professional. Shoes all dressy and flat, or heel much to high. Doesn’t this gal ever dress down? I continue to dig and plunder until I find a pair of grey jersey shorts, a cotton t-shirt, and old pair of yellow running shoes.

I start to undress and I’m mortified. This CAN NOT be my body! Everything positioned North of my navel is now migrating South and well, everything, positioned south of my navel is migrating south as well. I inspect further and find cellulite heaped in piles, from my derriere to the back of my knees. Google Earth could use the marks stretched across my abdomen as national landmarks. I run my fingers across my face, it feels familiar, but not the same. My hair is no longer cropped short but falls in layers past my shoulders.

My anxiety level is surging from moderately upset to over the top frantic. I am borderline nervous breakdown.

I look for a phone, and all I find is a miniature version, it’s not small enough to be a toy, but not large enough to fit my 1990’s profile of cordless phone. I push talk and get a dial tone. Bingo! I dial my home number pushing each button with confidence. It rings, and rings, and rings. No answer! Where is my Mother? Does she know I am in the company of complete strangers? Maybe she’s on her way to pick me up, right now.

I find my way into the hallway, sit down by the door, and begin to wait patiently for my ride. I nervously drum my fingers. I twirl my hair, around and around. I bite my nails almost to the quick. I wish I had a Lisa Frank notebook to doodle in. You know the one’s with unicorns and lipstick wearing Panda Bears. I wish I had my CD player with headphones so I could listen to the Counting Crows. Shoot, I bet I’m missing Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Where are you Mom???

Just as I am about to get up and go outside, the strange man claiming to be my husband has found me. He’s only wearing boxers and he has really ugly toes. UGH!

“What are you doing?”. He practically yells at me! Jerk!

“What does it look like I’m doing? I am going home,” I snap equally irritated.

“Mommy, Mommy, where you going?”. Great the little people, have found me again. They look so sweet in just their diapers and underwear. I could kiss their little toes, one by one.

Wait! I take a deep breath and try to process this all. Could this really be my life? It’s not exactly what I had imagined growing up. I thought I would marry Prince William and live in a castle. Could this really be my husband? He doesn’t look like Prince William, but he does look good in just his boxer’s. I guess I could have done worse. At least, he’s tall.

What about the little people? Could they really be my children? I could not have done any better! One boy. One Girl. Ten toes each and ten fingers each. Healthy. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed Perfection.

I begin to feel dizzy and disoriented. I feel like I’m fighting my way thru a dense fog with only my hands to guide me. My life slowly comes into focus. I am indeed 31. Strange man in boxers, belongs to me, and I to him, and little people are ours. This is my life, not what I had imagined, but better!

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