I just recently had a birthday and somehow now qualify as “old.” I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I am hip-replacement age yet (though my hips have been popping recently and I should get that checked) but I am, indeed, no longer a teenager. I can’t relate to classic songs such as “Teenage Dream”, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, or “Best of Both Worlds” anymore. I have this weird new sense of adultness, like I should now know better than to drink on a school night or to eat chocolate for breakfast. I can no longer do something crazy and permanent like get a weird piercing and blame it on “being a teenager” when my grandkids ask why my face has a hole in it.
I’ve been preparing for leaving my teen years for a while now, because I’m one of those nostalgic kids that tries to romanticize moments, sometimes trying to capture the moment more than actually living it. I felt like I looked kind of crazy trying to hold on to every last moment of teenage-ness, thinking that somehow turning 20 (a youthful age, thank you very much) would make me old. I thought other people would just think my obsession with “remembering this moment” was an overreaction to aging. Alas, I was unpleasantly surprised. Everyone around me is happy I enjoyed my “good years” and now sees me as a grandma. And once you become a grandma, you spend a lot of time thinking about your youth, and all the things you did or could have done.
It’s weird, really, how once you leave your teens, all of the things you didn’t get to do come back to haunt you. Several people told me, “Happy birthday! Guess you can’t get teen pregnant anymore!” I started to think things I hadn’t ever thought before. Oh god, what if I was meant to be a teen mom? What if that was my true calling? I could get a special on Bravo! I’d be able to meet my grandchildren and their children… My daughter and I would look like sisters and sketchy guys would use that as a pick-up line… Maybe I made a mistake.
It’s also funny how people like to remind you of the person you used to be when you were young. They remind you of the cute things you did as a kid. They bring up little moments that will never come back. They call you by your oldest nicknames. Yes, it gets sad. But it also gets weird. At least three different people told me “I cannot BELIEVE you are turning 20. You used to LOVE Barney!”
What?
First of all, how dare you? I still love Barney. And he loves me. And we’re a happy family. Second of all, was my love for Barney when I was a child somehow going to keep me frozen in time, a youthful cherub forever? Because I, at one point in my life, loved Barney, was I supposed to just stay a four year old for the rest of my life? Is Barney the secret to eternal life? Why would you assume that, Aunt Lauren? That’s so weird! Are you going back to therapy? Lastly, I can’t believe you would post that on my Facebook. When I came to college, I reinvented myself as a Sesame Street kid. What are my friends going to say when they find out the truth?
I guess the weirdest part about birthdays is that you are turning a different age than your friends. I’m usually the oldest in my group of friends, and they all see me as the first one to cross the line. I remember turning 13 and being asked what it felt like to be a teenager. I remember turning 15 and being the first quinceañera. I turned 16 and got my license. When I turned 17 I was the only dancing queen* for a while and would be the only one able to buy myself tickets to R-rated movies. I remember being 18 and officially being the adult, and my friends asking what that was like. Now I’m like, ~in my twenties~. The Buzzfeed articles are hitting close to home now. My friends now see me as the twenty year old.
Whatever, fine, I guess I’m old. That just means I am one step closer to retirement. Hip replacements and water aerobics, here I come.
*After writing this, I listened to “Dancing Queen” and cried. Enjoy your youth, kids.
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