Last night as I got ready for bed, it occurred to me that I am not really a grown up. This thought revealed itself as I was spending more time than was necessary neatly wrapping sanitary packaging in toilet paper to throw in the kitchen bin in the morning (husband is very offended by sanitary packaging). What a palaver. Grown ups have bathrooms bins. Why don’t I have one, I thought? Ahhh, because then I would have to empty it.
As it is, Daddy Pig and I play the kitchen Bin Battle most days. If you haven’t played it, it’s really very fun. Basically you take turns to see who can fit just one more grapefruit, teabag or nappy in. If you win your turn you pass Go, collect £200 and don’t have to take the bin out. As enjoyable as it is, we haven’t got time to play this in the bathroom too.
So there I was at 11.20 PM thinking about a bathroom bin (when I should have been asleep), about the friends that have one (at last count there are five) and wondering if this means I am not really a grown up.
There are other things too. For one, I don’t use body lotion as often as I should. I have four bottles lined up in the bathroom, there is no excuse. I shuffle them around to clean. They are pointless obstructions and I should really just throw them away. But I can’t because one day I might use them (and I don’t have a bin).
The storage in our house poses similar questions because very few things have their own place. Kids’ hats and gloves are shoved behind radiators next to bank statements. Cheese graters balance precariously on top of saucepans. The cat food sits on top of the washing machine. The toilet rolls fight for understairs cupboard space with the gym bags and tool box. Surely real grown ups do not live like this?
What is even stranger is that I didn’t grow up in a disordered house. Everything had a home. The toilet rolls had their own cupboard, the saucepans their own drawer. My parents managed everything so well and I always thought of them as grown ups.
I’m not sure how Beaver sees us, her parents. Godivy, at one, is thankfully still too young to worry about. I don’t always feel like we are setting the best example. We watch too many Disney DVDs and I let her eat cake on the sofa, even if I’ve just hoovered. I’m not sure I’m always consistent with the boundaries because sometimes, rather selfishly, I do these things because I’m tired and I want an easy life.
Perhaps becoming a mother has put me back in touch with my inner child; I’m surprised that it hasn’t made me feel more grown up. Because there isn’t really anything you can do that’s more grown up than having children is there?
Aside from buying that bathroom bin.