How can I have a 20-year-old when I’m still 20 years old myself?

Today my daughter turns 20, which is completely and utterly impossible.

Is it because it was just last month that she was a delicious, soft bundle of infant?
Is it because just last week she was a precocious, entertaining and delightful toddler?
Or is it because it was only yesterday that she was an aloof (yet awesome) pre-teen?
Yeah, it’s all of those things, certainly, but mostly it’s because it was just an hour ago that I was 20 years old, and there’s no way in hell I’m now old enough to be the parent of one.

I mean, as the mother of a 20-year-old, shouldn’t I be doing things differently than I did forty-cough-something years ago and behaving in more of an adult fashion?
Shouldn’t I be eating regular, balanced meals; expressing thoughtful opinions on current world events; going to bed at a decent hour; quilting?
Shouldn’t my tastes have changed and evolved to include more than rainbow-colored cocktails and a fierce infatuation with celebrity life?
Shouldn’t I be wearing designer labels, traveling to exotic locations, and eating at restaurants that don’t have a drive-through?

Spoiler alert: I’m not.

With the exception of challenged eyesight, gray roots that appear out of nowhere every three weeks, the sleep patterns of an infant, and a drastically decreased infatuation with Paula Abdul, I’m still behaving just like I did when I was 20.

And I have evidence.

How can I have a 20 year old


  • I read Us Weekly, weekly.
  • I wear leggings.
  • I use a curling iron with a handle.
  • I buy clothes at The Brass Plum in Nordstrom.
  • I sometimes overindulge in things I know from experience I shouldn’t, which includes (but is not limited to) pizza, Taco Bell, and Appletinis.
  • I cut the crusts off my grilled cheese.
  • I will never not watch a movie with Meg Ryan in it.
  • I wear my college sorority sweatshirts.
  • I buy drugstore cosmetics.
  • I sleep with the same man.
  • I question authority.
  • Will Smith annoys me.
  • I wish my hair was longer, my boobs were bigger, and my skin was smooth.
  • I only drink light beer.
  • I eat Target popcorn for lunch.
  • I don’t balance my checkbook.
  • I am challenged by the eyelash curler, the smoky eye, and bronzer.
  • Rick Astley songs excite me.
  • I think I can dance.
  • I don’t feel entirely comfortable in a room full of people.
  • I’m easily intimidated by those who do.
  • I eat the legs off chocolate Teddy Grahams first.
  • I eat chocolate Teddy Grahams, period.
  • I write in colored ink.
  • I buy magazines because Rob Lowe is on the cover.
  • I’m not entirely sure what I want to be when I grow up.
  • I stay up too late.
  • I take too many naps.
  • I forget to moisturize.
  • I plan to exercise.
  • I’m embarrassed to buy feminine products.
  • I wear novelty pajamas.
  • My favorite shoes are my Converse.
  • I worry about my mortality.
  • The Internet amazes me.

But perhaps the biggest piece of evidence?

  • I cannot imagine having a 20-year-old.



For more posts on how I’ve dealt (or not dealt) with my growing up kids, click HERE.
For more posts on college and separation, click HERE.
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  • A Morning Grouch - I love this honest list! And holy hell – you have a TWENTY year old! Cheers to that, mama. Time travel and whatnot required to make that happen.ReplyCancel

  • Snarkfest - You totally wrote that list about me, didn’t you? Except replace “Rob Lowe” with either “John Stamos” or “Simon LeBon” and that could totally be me. Mine just turned 18 and that’s impossible because I’m only 20 myself. And I don’t remember being a sexually active toddler.ReplyCancel

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