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First Day of School

Does anyone else feel super guilty when they wish someone Happy Birthday on Facebook and go right by whatever charity the person is raising money for? I just wanted to type Happy Birthday on your wall. Why you gotta bring United Way into this?


School is officially here! I know this because everyone is posting “first day” pictures of their kids, and it’s making me feel old AF. That means As Freak if you’re my mother reading this.

It’s crazy. I’m sitting, scrolling through photos like, “How on earth is your kid in sixth grade? I saw you getting high a month ago!” Some people I went to high school with are posting pictures of their own kids in high school! High school! They’re like, “My baby’s first day of Senior Year!” and I’m thinking surely they mean Senior Year of Kindergarten. Why is your “baby” “driving”????

A few of my friends have kids in college. That’s doing wonders for my self esteem. Back then I thought they were crazy for having kids so young, but now they seem brilliant for getting it out of the way.

Then there are some people I went to high school with who are posting pictures of the first day of school of their grandkids. I look at their pictures like they’re parenting prodigies. So gifted. So young. They’ve managed to raise a kid who has had a kid and here I am proud of myself for keeping an aloe plant alive.

I don’t have any of these pictures to post. I don’t have any kids. Sometimes that weirds me out. I’m 41. By this point it feels like I should have at least had one accidentally. I think it’s a byproduct of living in New York City for ten years. Certain things get put on hold. Having a kid. Buying a house. Doing your own laundry.

I’m not jealous when I see my friend’s kids. I’ve never once felt like my life was missing anything. My work and my relationships have always been enough. And there are advantages to not having rug rats running around. I can nap whenever I want. That seems like a minor thing, but I’ve seen the look on new parent’s faces when they haven’t slept in 13 days. They would kill someone for a nap.

And I love being able to come and go as I please. I love being able to cook what I want. I love not knowing anything about the oeuvre of the Pikachu. I love writing whenever I feel like writing, I love that I’ve never stepped on a Lego. I love that when I hear parents of newborns talking about a “blowout” I can pretend to not know what that means.

Not that I'm totally against the idea. Jaimie’s a bit younger than me so I have the advantage of some extra time. The idea of a mini-Jaimie and me running around is terrifying in an exciting kind of way. It might be the most dramatic creation the world has ever seen.

Of course by that point, the days of my friends posting pictures of their kids will be long gone. They’ll be in retirement homes or driving their RV’s around the country. Meanwhile I’ll be taking photos of my kid, they’ll be holding the First Day of Second Grade sign and I’ll be holding my AARP card. I’ll be spending that Social Security money on field trips. And when they’re friends ask them how old their father is, they’ll just say, “He’s old AF.”

That’s As Freak if you’re my mother reading this.

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