Why seriously growing up is overrated
I am a child of the 80s, and obviously, like all old farts, we are convinced our generation was the best one. Well, I am here to tell you that the 80s was the best decade, haha!!!
So, here I am, a child in my 40s, and in every given serious situation I find myself seeking a responsible adult. When I've had to attend school meetings for my own children, I've struggled to maintain the appearance of being an adult because what the fuck is one of those anyway? Sometimes I'm barely human, and now I can hear Rag'n'Bone Man singing my life's theme: I'm BARELY human after all! Go on, man!
I am blessed to have four children, but honestly, at times it feels like they are more adult than me. I see them as an extension of my chaoticness and my four little friends. We get each other, most of the time, and of course they blame me for their weirdness. Sorry about that, mates!
I think the answer may have finally landed in my brain cells back in March and July 2025. I was diagnosed with autism first, which came as a shock initially, and then ADHD, which was no shock at all. Suddenly, things started to make sense. Why I've always felt like there are two opposing forces inside my brain, how I can want the exact opposites at the exact same time, and how I can stand there glitching like some weird-ass fucking hologram.
Seriously, how can you want space and social interaction at the same time? How can you want routine and spontaneity at the same time? After the diagnoses, it became clear that one side of my family is very neurospicy. They just haven't fathomed that out yet, and who am I to be the bearer of epic fucking news!
So, now that things are making more sense (and definitely not falling into place), I've decided to finally embrace me and my traits. They've been there all along, and now I have a much deeper understanding of who I am: a child trapped in a body that snap, crackles and pops more than Rice Krispies. Remember the Kellogg's toys? They were the highlight of breakfast time, right?
I will do everything I can to avoid calling a company. Put it in a fucking email! It's easier for me to understand, and I don't have the embarrassment of suddenly forgetting my name, my age or yet another password on the phone that I don't even remember setting.
I tried moving my Sky broadband the other day, so I emailed them with a request to email me back. They phoned. I answered, and they played some weird game of not speaking. They then proceeded to email me to say they'd tried calling multiple times (bullshit) and asked me to call a number.
So, I downed a mug of tea for Dutch courage and made the call. I regretted that tea within ten minutes of being stuck on the phone, thanks to nature calling. I decided to allow nature to call whilst muting the phone, only to then be asked for my password.
WHAT FUCKING PASSWORD?!
Eventually, it turned out I needed to speak to a different department, who had conveniently gone home for the day. Someone would call me tomorrow at 11:30.
Fast forward a week. They didn't call, and I'm still paying for broadband at an address I no longer live at. Joys, eh?
I needed to go to B&Q for some boring adult shizzle: paint and other such things. So I took a responsible adult with me. She even had to put her glasses on to get into character, and may I add, she did a grand job!
While I was there, literally getting high off paint fumes and touching anything with either a fabulous texture or a shit one, she guided me towards the things I needed. We both walked out unscathed.
One more example of my absolute refusal to grow up is The Build A Bear Factory.
Fuck my life.
After taking my daughter a few times, I developed a deep longing to own my own BAB. Why the fuck not, right?
So, I chose this pink thing that I thought was a rabbit but turned out to be a dog with a green tuft of hair. Anyway, when we had the delight of going to name it and get its birth certificate, we all chose one name and Cherry Beary (pronounced Berry) Gerald was born. Although I keep calling it Gerald.
That was that. I felt like I was winning at life and finally had a purpose: to go on life's journey with Gerald, my new emotional support bear.
Anyway, fast forward a month or two, and I'm back in Cardiff with my son, hunting for something important. We spot the BAB shop and decide to go in. Well, it was a sign from the universe to be as impulsive as possible!
The Halloween specials were a pink thing and a grey thing, and we ummed and ahhed over how cute they were. Then I noticed their names were displayed on the unfilled bears, and to our shock, horror and absolute joy, one was called Cherry and one was called Berry.
It was alignment and synchronicity all at the same time!
Impulsive child won that day. I am now the proud owner of Cherry, and my son has Berry!
I am now faced with a new issue because I went back into BAB again maybe a month later to prove I could be an adult, now I did well, I spent naff all, but the Gods have aluded me again as I now have my eyes on a new one called My Melody - and obviously that is my bloody name. I may have to set up a go fund me page to help me with my new hyperfocus!
I could list thousands of examples of my struggle with adulthood and turn this into a comedy, but, to be honest, I have an urge right now to go and sniff some markers or glue or something highly potent.
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