When I was in 7th grade, I had to start changing in a locker room for P.E. This was the first time I was aware of my body in comparison to other girls. I hadn’t really noticed, or paid attention. Sure there was that one neighbor boy who always teased me for being “flat”, but I didn’t let it bother me too much. I was only twelve. Of course I wasn’t developed yet.
But then came 7th grade P.E. Where we changed in front of each other, including 8th grade girls. Where I was one of the only girls who didn’t wear a bra. Even my smaller classmates wore “training” bras. I had no interest in wearing one. Especially if I didn’t need one.
The pressure built, however, and by the end of the first semester I was wearing a size quadruple A or whatever.
Eventually, my chest grew. By the time I was in college I was a 36C. After I got pregnant I was up to a 38DD, and now they have shrunk a little bit.
The point is, I was a little bit of a late bloomer compared to my classmates. But I caught up eventually, and actually bypassed a lot of them.
I consider myself a late bloomer in pretty much every aspect of my life.
So, because of my experience in middle and high school, I figure that eventually I’ll catch up. And maybe even start bypassing people.
I know life isn’t a competition. I am just feeling so out of sorts.
Friends who are the same age as me are all married, having kids, having careers, buying houses and cars. I was married. I have a kid. I have a job. And I can’t imagine being in a financial position to buy a house any time in the next five years. I’ve never owned a car that I bought with my own money.
It’s not at all that I feel their lives are by any means perfect. They have their own struggles, their own insecurities, their own problems.
I just feel so left behind.
And then there’s the fact that I feel so young all of the time.
When I’m in the grocery story with T, I feel like people are judging me for being a young mom.
But I’m not.
I was almost 23 when he was born. I had graduated college. I’m not considered an “older” mother (which, by the way, hate that term). I’m the same age my mother and grandmother were when they had their first children.
But I feel so young. All of the time.
It doesn’t have to do entirely with what I feel like I am supposed to be doing, or where I was supposed to go.
It just has to do with who I am. As a person.
I am immature.
I am not fully developed.
I am a late bloomer.
Maybe there will come a time in my life when I finally feel caught up to the rest of the world. When I walk down the street, feeling confident that people aren’t looking at me thinking I am 17 when I am really 27. When I can do all the “grown-up” things people my age have already been doing for years. When I don’t refer to myself as a “girl” any longer. When I am in a career, not a job. When I can look at my home and my life and feel proud of how hard I’ve worked for what I have.