Star Signs.

Do you know what you should do, if you need amusing? Read your baby’s horoscope. I don’t know why this is funny, but trust me, it is. Last weekend, Simone’s forecast said:
“Experiment with unusual activities and different types of entertainment, especially if your life feels out of your control. It’s all about recapturing that sense of individuality. Granted, you can’t change certain things, so figure out what those are and don’t give them a second thought. Open your eyes a little wider — expose yourself to new ways of doing things. You’ll find inspiration in the most unlikely places.”
Could that be any more appropriate for a 20-month old? A 20-month old who recently found her unlikely inspiration in an empty yogurt container and a drumstick?

Simone had begun refusing to wear her glasses, and so I made her an ophthalmology appointment, certain that her refusal was due to a change in her prescription. But no! It turns out her refusal was simply “developmental,” which is code for “brattiness-related.” We had to smear atropine ointment into her eyes for a week, but she’s grudgingly wearing them again.
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Scott has come over all sentimental about how quickly Simone is growing up. The two of them are just besotted with each other. Every night Scott creeps into the bedroom where Simone is sleeping, and moons over her. “Look at that nice baby,” he says, moonily. The other day I spanned her thigh with my hand and realized that it is now bigger around than her whole body was at birth. She’ll be two soon, something I try not to think about, not only because it seems impossible that she’ll be so big so quickly, but also because her birthday falls the week before my deadline, and if her birthday’s coming up, that means…oh god.

Speaking of birthdays, mine is a week from this coming Saturday, and I will be 30. I’m quite looking forward to it. As I told someone the other day, I feel like my age is finally catching up to me. I feel thirty. It was lonely, being an elderly 18-year-old, but at last I’m in the proper company.
It’s odd though, as while I don’t feel young, I don’t feel particularly grown-up, either. Basically, I feel old yet irresponsible and ultimately unequipped for adult life. And yet here I am, entrusted with a nearly two-year-old child and a needy, helpless deadline. I wonder whether people ever really feel like adults, or whether their understanding of compound interest and property taxes is just a front, and inside they’re the same silly people they’ve always been.