… So stay in a child’s place.
Now that I’m closer to 26 than 25 (!), which makes me closer to 30 than 20 (!!), I’ve done some reflecting about what makes me a grown-ass woman. I’ve asked myself the following questions. Self, I said…
“Is it the teaching job?” Can’t be. I had that when I was a hot mess 21 year old.
“Is it the house I live in?” Definitely not. I live with four of my best friends.”Is it the boyfriend?” No way. We’re too silly. (Aww, cute)
“Is it the books I read?” Probably. Tina Fey & Mindy Kaling are a pretty big deal.
“Is it the world traveling?” Nope. California & cross country trips included naps.
“Is it the high blood pressure medicine?” Yes.
So after the whole meningitis episode of 2012, I apparently had to (first find then) go to a doctor for a little follow-up. This has woken me from my post-collegiate slumber of faux adulthood. For now, I had to schedule regular doctor’s appointments. When he said that I shouldn’t have headaches so regularly, I was like, uh, yeah huh. So he put me on this beta-blocker. Which is delicious. I now regularly suffer from about zero headaches. Which is awesome. HOWEVER. I needed to remember to take it. Every. Damn. Day. Which was miserable. I’m so forgetful. “Where is it?! My purse, my overnight bag? My floor, my bathroom?” I know. SO YOU GUYS. I started keeping all my medicine in the same place, so it became a routine! It’s so cool. It’s in a mug in my room on my bookshelf. And it’s decorative, too. Right next to our mason jar savings account.
That, my friends, is how I know that I have become a grown woman doin’ grown woman thangs. So stay in a child’s place.