Turns out, I'm 27. Which is weird because I remember clearly my parents being 27. In my head, 27 is grown up. Old, even. Time to stop believing your real life still lies ahead and make a plan. Plans, I am good at. Technically, I'm even good at bringing the plans to fruition. What doesn't turn out so well is getting the universe to go along with them.
I hereby submit the following for your consideration:
Plan for Growing Up #1 Graduate from college and find a job. Check and check. See how easy this is?
Plan for Growing Up #2 Get married and buy a house (and a dog). Check and check (and check). Until said marriage spontaneously combusted. Or, more accurately, husband spontaneously combusted/was abducted by aliens who stole his brain. (We can save that for another, extra special post.)
Plan for Growing Up #2 REMIX Get REmarried. Keep house and dog. Add another dog for good measure. Get pregnant. Check. All of the above. (You know what's coming don't you?) Until said pregnancy ends in bloody miscarriage and hormonal madness ensues. (Also for another post.)
So here I am, swiftly approaching 30. Frantically trying to figure life plan number three. While battling declining pregnancy hormones and adjusting to newly remarried life. Call it a quarter-life crisis. Or something. But I'm hoping keeping tabs of all of my plans, successes and failures might help to convince me that this grown-up version of myself isn't all one enormous optical illusion.
