I feel 31 in this picture. I guess that’s not completely
true, I don’t feel 31, but I feel
like I look 31. I have gray hairs, wrinkles, and some of my
pregnancy mask still. (When is that going to go away?!?! It’s been over a year already
people!) Despite the signs of aging, for one of the first times I can see a
resemblance between myself and one of my children. I have frequently heard that
the kids look a lot like Lowell and I but until now, I’ve been hard pressed to
see the similarities. Here I see how our eyes are shaped the same, we both have
little button noses, both have somewhat curly hair and then there’s the pudgie
little bellies. J
If given the choice I suppose I would rather look 31 than
feel it. On the inside I still wonder when I was supposed to have grown up. I
feel awkward and unsure, excited and anticipatory, curious and confused:
exactly how I felt at 17. And 19. And 22. And now, 31. Outwardly I know I have
to act professional and mature and responsible and *gasp* sometimes even sophisticated,
but most of the time I’m laughing at this charade that seems so flimsy and
transparent. How can I be a grown up when I still inwardly laugh when I ask the
kids to “find Hubba’s balls”?
