Admittedly this blog began as an effort to make light of an irresponsible life, one I’d imagined as typical of my Never-Never-Land generation. It was swiftly abandoned as life hit me in the belly, so to speak, and my silly bumblings suddenly became foolish and inconsequential.
My boyfriend, hereafter referred to by the pseudonym Eric, and I had a wonderful and terrifying surprise. After just three months of dating Eric, I was pregnant and expecting the baby in April of 2014.
In a few quick moments being a rock star and first place in the bad bitch contest no longer mattered. I had to start eating three meals a day; none of which could be candy. My finances had to be put in order and I needed to see a doctor for the first time in years. I started reading everything ever written about childbirth and parenting (only to find later that I would forget it all). I cleaned baseboards, made shopping lists and became stricter in my previously unruly dog’s discipline. In short I made a mad and frantic dash to the adulthood finish line, clumsily flailing about along the way.
To my dismay and surprise, there is no finish line. That is why the title of this blog has remained the same. With every action, superficial and substantive, I make an effort at adulthood. A lot of the time I fail, but it’s all much more earnest than it was before.
What follows is “Because I’m an adult,” the version that addresses parenthood, adulthood and living well.
Note: Frank the cockapoo is now eleven years old and doing fine.