I am an adult now.

At least that is how people refer to me.

The ripe old age of 32.

I have a husband, a kid, a dog, a mortgage, a career, an IRA, a car payment and a boatload of student loans.

How did this happen? Who trusted me to be an adult? Can I really be in charge of raising another human? And making sure that he grows up to be a kind, loving person that realizes his importance and how much I love him?

Sometimes, this seriously blows my mind.

I swear it was just a few years ago that I was skipping classes at college to drink beer with my friends on the porch of our favorite bar. We would talk and laugh and have the best time without a care in the world.

We were all broke but that didn’t matter to us. I carried around a jar full of change that we creatively called “The Change Jar.” When any of us would clean out our cars, we would put any change we found in the change jar. When it got full we would all go out and celebrate and pay in quarters. Sorry bartenders.

Disclaimer: I have no idea how we were all so broke. We all had jobs, most of us as servers or bartenders. But at that time my main spending categories were food, alcohol, tanning and clothes.

Disclaimer #2: I did graduate college in four years with a 3.8 GPA. I did more than just drink my way to a Bachelors Degree.

Back to the present day: I found myself having a conversation with someone the other day about refinancing my mortgage and tax write-offs. That was when it hit me. I’m a grown up.

O.M.G.

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Disclaimer #3: I think I have done a pretty sufficient job of adulting thus far. I married an amazing man. My child is still alive, as well as my dog. I do have that IRA with not a significant amount of money in it—but at least I have one.

I also have a good job and a car with a large dent in the side. My husband hit it pulling into the garage. . . which you can’t really turn into insurance.

I decided to write a list of the things I always thought adults did. And that I do not do. I don’t think this means I am failing adulthood, to be honest, they make me laugh more than worry. Hopefully others feel me, or maybe I just need to domesticate myself.

  • I don’t cook. I can microwave the hell out of something. Give me a crockpot and we will feast on chicken and anything else I find in the freezer. Thank goodness I married a man that cooks or my family would survive on Hot Pockets and frozen pizza.
  • I am ashamed to admit I just bought my first iron and ironing board this weekend. I do own a steamer. The iron has not made it out of the box yet.
  • I have a brown thumb. I have managed to kill a fern and a plant someone told me was impossible to kill.
  • I don’t sort my laundry and wash it all on cold. Oops.
  • I Google everything. If I can’t find it online I cry and call my mom.
  • I pay someone to clean my house once every two weeks. ?
  • I wash laundry, dry it, fold it, then put it away a week later when it’s time to do laundry again.
  • I can’t craft for the life of me. Pinterest is to pin cute ideas. Etsy is to buy the cute ideas I’m not artistic enough to make.
  • I have never sent out Christmas cards.
  • I take BuzzFeed quizzes. Ones like, “We can tell how old you are based on your preference in chocolate?” Let’s just say they were way wrong on that one. I am not 22.
  • I honestly enjoy watching Peppa Pig with my son and laugh out loud.
  • I use phrases like “da bomb” and “crunk.”

You may read these things and think what on earth do you do with your life if you don’t cook, iron, garden, put away laundry or craft?

Well I take care of my toddler and read him books.

We also play blocks and take pictures on SnapChat. I spend time with my husband.

I work. I love my job. I volunteer. I microwave things. I do a ton of laundry. I write. I drive around singing really really loud. I take BuzzFeed quizzes. I go to church on Sundays. I read. I hang out with my family and friends. I work out at 5 am Monday—Friday. I do take showers and wash my hair. I make a monthly budget. I do the books for my mother-in-law’s dance studio. I watch bad reality television. I sleep. A good nap is the best. I pay bills and other adultish things. I make a lot of lists. And I love my life. Not all the time. I get down, sad and stressed, but in the end, I always remember how lucky I am. Every once in a while I shed some tears and feel sorry for myself but I always get back up.

Maybe that’s what being an adult is all about. Knowing who I am—and accepting who I am not.

As a child, I used to think that adults had it figured out. After all, they had families and mortgages and were taller than the rest of us. But what I’ve learned now that I’ve joined their ranks is that we are all just figuring it out—learning what we’re good at, laughing at what we suck at—and doing our best to show up to life every day.

As I new mom, I know adulting is so much harder than it looks. But it’s also the best adventure imaginable. Bring it on, mortgage refinance. Mama needs a brand new minivan. ?