I played with Barbie growing up. I remember all the different set ups we had for her. Doctor Barbie, Veterinarian Barbie, Hairstylist Barbie, Rich Hoe Housewife Barbie… I really believed like her, we could be anything we wanted. I thought that when we turned 18 we would be an adult, immersed in our cool career, living in a dream house with Ken. Well, I grew up to be Barbie alright. Poopin Scoopin Barbie. (She exists). I’m a 28 year old mother to a Yorkshire Terrier and her dog. Some days I realize that all I’ve done is clean up shit all day. Torturous monotony.
The Yorkie, Daisy, is the boss of her dog, and I guess honestly, the boss of me too. I bought her Rosalie as a gift so she would have company when I was working crazy hours, thinking she would like a sister. Instead, she treats us both like her slaves and I cut back on working. I attempt to sneak out for a peaceful walk so I can reflect on my life choices.
“Where do you think you’re going mom?” “I’m going for a walk Daisy.” “Get my harness. And my dog’s harness too.” I look at her blankly knowing I’m being robbed of my only shot at peace and quiet today. She stamps her paw on the floor, “Get it!”
I get it. As we walk I wonder how I strayed off the sure path of a closet full of designer clothes, a cool career, and a dream house with a pink corvette. Why have my twenties been such a mess? What have I been doing? I’ve been spending a lot of time obsessing over career choices. I am constantly comparing myself to everyone around me and everyone they know. Who has a degree, who went to school where, how many hours does this one work, what benefits does that one get. It’s hard to decide if I am happy where I’m at.
“Walk faster mom we missed Pilates this morning.” Daisy pulls at us and we pick up the pace.
How the hell did Barbie get all those degrees? How old is she anyway? Did she meet Ken in a bar or while studying for the bar? Why am I comparing my life to a doll? I can’t have the same twenties as a doll. I kind of shuffled out my time like an iffy hand of cards to all sorts of things this past decade. I went to a specialty school for a trade in Esthetics, a community college for Writing, I spent a good chunk of time in bad relationships and an equal amount of time recovering from them. I made a lot of money but I spent a lot of money. I halfway made it to marriage and sort of became a parent by raising these two fluffs. It’s been the trial and error years. The not so free sample times. It’s been like one long night in a costume trick or treating but getting mostly tricked.
“You should have been a Kardashian mom. Then you could buy me more outfits.”
You should have been a Kardashian mom.
“Are you working overtime this week? I want you to take me and my dog to the groomer and I want to leave a big tip.”
I know I could have gotten my act together sooner. Maybe I didn’t need to party on the weekends or date Mr. Wrong 20 times in a row. There was the opportunity for scholarships and better choices. Honestly though, it wasn’t realistic at the time. I reflect on a fact I know now that I didn’t know then; there is no such thing as a plan. Plans have variables we can’t control, we can only have goals. I could have planned all kinds of things and been right here with doggy bags in hand anyway.
Despite the pressure from Daisy, and Barbie, I feel renewed in a way since my most recent birthday. I feel like I can start fresh from this point on and truly do whatever I want to do. I might be a mess now but I don’t have to be a mess forever. I can figure out what the hell I want to be when I grow up right now, it doesn’t make sense to have had it figured out ten years ago anyways. How do you make those decisions without life experience? How do you appreciate without first disappointment? How do you pick a costume without trying them all on first? I don’t have to be only Poopin Scoopin Barbie, I can get serious and do something bigger. I can participate in a more meaningful day and follow my dreams. We all can! We can start at any point and become anything we want. I’ll never scoop poop again!
“Mom. I pooped.”
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