Do you ever do that thing when you look around for a grown up, and then realise you are the grown up?
So, then you find yourself looking for a more grown-upper grown up. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing and not just winging it almost every second of the day…
I’ve basically felt like this for most of my adult life. And even having a child – an actual little person that I’m responsible for keeping alive – hasn’t changed things.
I’ve been feeling even more like this in the last few weeks. With the terror attacks and the election, I feel quite a bit out of my depth on the whole adulting front.
My A-level in history firmly hammered home to me the importance of always casting your vote. Studying the suffering the suffragettes endured for my right to go along and tick a box has thus far cast a life-long shadow.
But today there was a none-too-small part of me that didn’t want to have to deal with the grown-up responsibility – I wanted to stay in my little mummy-life bubble of nappies and playdates, of bottles and cuddles, of sleepless nights, first words and first steps.
Childishly, I want to believe that people will do what they say they will. I want to believe that everyone wants the best for others. I want to believe people don’t lie just to get a place in office and enjoy subsidised lunches and nice wines in a historic building. I want to believe that whoever we have elected, they will do a good job, they will help make the world a better place for my lad and his little buddies.
As I stood in a line today, poking my tongue out at Sonny Jim to make him giggle, I wanted a proper grown-up to tell me what the right and best thing to do was.
Though I cast my vote, it was with no real hope or confidence that it was for the best person. I guess it’s only with the benefit of hindsight that Sonny Jim will be able to tell me what the “right” vote was.