I am a relative late comer to grown-uphood. I’ve always been a late bloomer (I didn’t get boobs until I was seventeen). And I was no different when it came to becoming an adult.

“But, Hipster Hausfrau,” you say, “You bought a condo when you were twenty-six. You got married when you were twenty-eight. You taught high school English for six years.”

In response, I offer exhibits


Hipster Hausfrau, drenched in shame. Age 30.


Hipster Hausfrau, age 31. About to participate in a "boat race." With nonalcoholic beer, and as an official business school event, but still.


Herr Husband and Hipster Hausfrau Karaoke sing karaoke in celebration of Herr Husband's 33rd birthday. Hipster Hausfrau is *only* 32.

But having a baby, especially a medically needy baby, kind of turns you into a grown up, like it or not. The secret is, most days I like it. In fact, whereas acting like a grown up used to alternately bore or terrify me, now I find it rather soothing.

I think we can all agree that I’ve had lots to be anxious about recently. (Das Baby’s early arrival, feeding problems, and impending surgery, for starters.) And what have I turned to (other than Das Baby and Herr Husband, and my other longtime love, literature) to settle my jingle-jangle brain?

Grown up behavior.

That’s right. Not booze, not hiding in bed, not even 90210 reruns.

Instead, I registered our car in Massachusetts and switched our auto insurance accordingly. I made appointments for Das Baby to see the audiologist and the ophthalmologist, and reminded his pulmonologist to schedule Das Baby’s echocardiogram for while he’s sedated for the G-Tube (so he doesn’t have to be sedated twice). I selected a doctor for myself, and went to see her to get referrals for: an OB/GYN (to see if I should ever try to get pregnant again, or if it’s a crazy idea), my old endocrinologist (whom I love and secretly wish would be my friend), and an ophthalmologist (because I have this weird but apparently not uncommon thing called lattice degeneration which I’m supposed to have monitored every year, but haven’t because, well, I’ve been a little busy with other medical problems).

Boring as hell? Abso-fucking-lutely. But getting things settled is a wonderful thing. Controlling the things I can control functions as a balm (not a potent one, but still) for some of the many things I can’t.

The very thing which I spent far too long trying to avoid actually makes me feel better. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t see my generation’s prolonged adolescence as the harbinger of social decay that some old fuddy-duddies might. But it turns out acting like an adult can help you feel more in charge of your life. You know, like a grown up should be.

I know, I know. A world of duh. What did I tell you? I’m a late bloomer.

And because you don’t pay to see pictures of my former questionable decision making:

He JUST woke up. Who is this cute and smiley when they wake up? My baby (Das Baby), that's who!


One Comment on “Grown-Uppityness”

  1. dayna says:

    welcome… lol… and my gosh is he simply gorgeous!

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