Thursday, February 17, 2011
Confessions! I am Peter Pan.
So my loyal followers (all three of them) :) might have noticed I haven't posted a confession in three days.
I wasn't being lazy.
I was entirely stumped.
The seemingly harmless question of the day is:
What have you outgrown?
Other than every piece of clothing I had before my second child (life only gives you one freebie baby. The rest cost you beauty!) I couldn't think of any answers. And then I panicked. I started going through every bad habit and annoying trait that I hoped to outgrow by now.
Nothing. Nothing! I've still got them all!
Even pimples! I haven't even outgrown those yet!
See why I am in a panic? Notice the gross overuse of exclamation points. I'm having a moment over here.
I tried really hard to think of answer that would make it sound like I am progressing in this life, because that is the point, right?
I wanted to say I outgrew temper tantrums.
Still get em. I don't actually break anything anymore, but I still stomp and close things too hard and yell too loud.
I wanted to say I outgrew worrying what other people thing of me.
Imagine a big game show buzzer saying ERRRRPPP!
It drives me crazy when someone doesn't like me. I worry about what I wear and what I say and how I say it and I might as well still be the seventh grader looking for a place to sit in the cafeteria.
That is so pathetically sad. On so many levels.
I wanted to say I outgrew being too sensitive.
Another annoying ERRRPPP!
I cry at cartoons. I cry at every movie I have ever seen! If someone looks at me funny I keep my composure and then go home and let it hurt my feelings.
So then I got desperate and thought, "well at least I've outgrown stuffed animals," because the sheer volume of puffy little creatures in my home is horrific. But then I remember with dread that I kind of fell in love with a scruffy little lion at a toy boutique last weekend. Drat. Drat. Drat!
I wanted to say I outgrew being sloppy but my office won't let me get away with that lie. I just hide it better now.
I hide it all better now.
And that is the scary part. I think I decided that we are all three years old. That is about as developed as our raw emotions get. But we learn tricks and restraint and composure and discipline to hide all that rawness.
We work and work and work to refine ourselves into something better than the screaming, kicking, crying child who is yelling his complaints to the universe. But deep, deep down, I think we still feel those kicks shuddering against our soul.
So I am sorry. I wanted a better answer to give you. I sort of wanted to skip the question when I realized what a lousy answer I had. But that is a lie and I made a promise.
So here is the only thing I ever outgrew (other than my stellar clothes): the little girl need to be born in a different time period. Admit it, ladies - you did it, too. You dreamed of the Jane Austen dresses or the pioneer bonnets or the Victorian masquerades.
I am totally over it. I don't envy fourteen layers of clothes in the summer or long nights without children's tylenol. It doesn't sound so romantic to me anymore. I am okay. In Kansas. In 2011.
In thirty years when I outgrow something else, I will let you know.