Julianne Byer

I went shopping yesterday for my friends’ six-month old niece in search of a blue dress with matching bloomers, when it hit me. This is the beginning of a very long decade. Two years ago I was working hard to get into college, four years ago I was begging to get my license and ten years ago I thought I was the shit because I had turned double digits.

We have moved past the decade of preparation, preening and “Dear Diary” sessions, in order to survive ten years of growth. While most girls would have been cooing over freakishly small jumpers and bathing suits, I was hyper-ventilating knowing that all of this was approaching us much sooner than later. This will be the decade that baby dolls will come to life and summer jobs will turn into careers. Goodbye playing house, hello realizing you’re already living it.

And I just have to ask-are we still going to be addicted to MySpace at 30? And how long will they let us stay on Facebook before they cut us off and tell us to grow up? Somehow I just don’t see myself interviewing for a job and having the boss check out my “Space.” That’ll be the day: When our cell numbers are replaced with our URL. 

The teen years seemed like such a huge deal, and looking back, I really only remember awkward body parts, acne and running to see fights before they got broken up. Well ok, there was a lot crammed into those years . . . but all they really did was prep us for “the roaring ’20s.”And it will come . . . whether you sit on your rooftop waiting for it or hide under your bed trying to avoid it. Pigs will fly my friends.

The last person you ever thought would have a baby will have triplets, and the first person you expected to be president will most likely work under you. Growth only means growing up; you aren’t supposed to know to what height.

I’m thinking I’ll stay away from baby clothes for awhile. I have too much homework to be thinking about the day when it’ll be the first thing on my mind. After all, I’ve got at least 10 years to work it all out right?

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