Growing Up is Overrated…kind of

I woke up this morning and decided, “I’m going to re-start a blog.” So, here I begin. For those that know me, I am a known talker. I was dubbed by co-workers several years ago as “Tara Talks A-Lot.” It’s a fact; I do talk, and I talk a lot. I have actually been accused of “talking just to talk.” Really that isn’t the case. I just have all these thoughts and ideas that continuously run through my mind. So the nickname being as fitting as it is, actually came in handy as my blog name. So as I am sitting here, I am trying to decide where to start….I supposed the beginning would be good, but I don’t know how interesting the sordid tales of my awkward childhood would be. Perhaps we will visit that another day. Then again, it may be precisely the place to start. My title today is “Growing up is Overrated,” after all.

I am the oldest child, and as oldest children go I suppose I was pretty typical. I was, according to my mother and grandmother, a “good kid.” I never liked to push the boundaries when I was small, was very fearful of everything (including my own shadow) and enjoyed helping others. I was a care-taker from the get-go. I was nearly five when my sister was born (that’s a story in itself, and perhaps one reason I became a labor and delivery nurse). Anyhow as this natural-born care taker, I was always a duck out of water with other kids my age. I felt older and wiser somehow. Not arrogant or snobbish, just never felt like a kid, an old soul I suppose. I could not wait to grow up. It was all I would think about as a young girl. I wanted to be free, to be independent. So when I became a teenager, this independence nagged me in great force. It’s a drive that has always been there. Fast forward about 20 years (I will revisit those years later) where here I reside as “a grown-up.” It’s what I’d always dreamed of. What I longed for.

The irony is it hasn’t quite turned out how my infantile mind had it pictured. Sure, I can do what ever I want, whenever I want, theoretically speaking. But not really. There are still rules, deadlines, demands, and consequences if those are not met. I am still a care-taker but now it involves caring for my four amazing, wonderful, fantastic children, myself, and my patient’s. This life of mine has taken me down many twists, turns, hills and valley’s. Some of these events have been a result of my own doing and some were things that I had absolutely no control over. But on days like today, in the midst of the whirlwind, I pause for a moment while I gaze upon my daughter and pray that she isn’t hoping to grow up as quickly as her mother did. I pray that she enjoys her childhood, and enjoys being the little girl she is in the here and now. I have had no greater joy than watching her and my three older sons grow. I was able to re-create that childhood that I didn’t stop to enjoy when I was small.

So, that’s a start for now. A little insight into a girl who talks too much. What can I say, I enjoy it. I enjoy telling stories and listening to others stories. I feel things a bit deeper than others maybe. Perhaps I still see the world a bit through rose-colored glasses. I still believe in good, I have hope in the human race, I still believe that love exists. Some may call it naïve, perhaps a bit annoying. I have come to a place where I really don’t care. It’s who I am, it’s the grown-up I’ve become.


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