I don’t want to grow up, but it’s too late

I asked myself, after I rolled out of bed this morning and threw my glasses sloppily on my face, when did I grow up? How fast did the time fly when I was a kid as I sat anxiously waiting or the next stop to adulthood? 

I guess I’m having a Peter Pan moment this morning, while the jingle to Toys R Us plays in my head. 

How did this happen? 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy with where my life ended up. To be a kid again, how amazing would that be?

Not a day goes by when I want that worry-free feeling when I clean the snow off my car and sit inside of it as I practically freeze to death waiting for it to warm up. Who needs to worry about bills, doctors’ appointments, or grocery shopping when you’re a kid? You can hand me those chicken nuggets out if the freezer for dinner. I’m cooking tonight. (Oh, wait. That doesn’t count since this has happened sometime in my 20s.)

I reminisce on my childhood. The good and the bad. When I look at old photos, if I can find them, it takes me back and I smile.

My parents say the same thing when they look through old photos. “Remember this?!” or “I can’t believe that was 10 years ago.” So in a way, I’m turning into one of them; the average adult who wishes every photograph was literally taken just yesterday and could live every moment in their lives over again, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. 

But, I still can’t believe I’m at the point in my life when the first thing out of my mouth following my morning roll out of bed routine is “when did I grow up?”

Checking social media this morning didn’t help either. Twitter. Facebook. And who can forget, LinkedIn (when did that happen?)

The social media sites I once used to connect with my friends went from Facebook and Twitter (although those are still my go-tos) to checking the chatter on LinkedIn, or the professional version of Facebook. 

Heck, call me old because you just might find me pretending to be a kid again.