Being an adult is better than being a child?
Surely not! I hear you say. But hear me out.
A few weeks ago, my daughter caught me eating pizza for breakfast.
I’d been out the evening before and was feeling slightly delicate. Partly through alcohol consumption because I never learn, but mainly through lack of sleep, which makes everything more fun.
While I was out, Doug had pizza delivered, and as anyone who’s ever had a hangover knows, leftover takeaway pizza is truly the breakfast of champions.
Anyway, the following conversation ensued:
Her: Mummy, what are you eating?
Me: *Hiding pizza behind my back* Uh, toast.
Her: Mummy I saw pizza. You can’t have pizza for breakfast.
Me: No. YOU can’t.
Between the bill paying, responsibility and general crushing ennui of being an adult and the youthful naivety and exuberance of childhood, I’d go with the latter every day of the week, but being a grown-up sometimes has its perks.
And not just that;
1) You can eat pizza for breakfast, chocolate for lunch and cake for dinner.
Oh no, there are plenty more reasons that being an adult is better than being a child…
And here they are!
2) You don’t have to wait for birthdays or Christmas to get stuff you want.
If you want to buy yourself a new toy, go right ahead and be my guest. Unless my husband is reading this, in which case ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.
3) You get to go to bed whenever you want.
No bedtime! Although thinking about my earlier comments, it is probably not a good thing. As a parent I like to practice the art of saying that I’ll have an early night every night, and then staying up ridiculously late reading the whole of the internet before being woken 5 or 6 hours later, and immediately vowing to have an early night. Lather, rinse, repeat, drink a lot of caffeine and eventually die of tiredness.
4) No one will tell you to try things you don’t like.
I’m fairly sure mushrooms are just re-shaped slugs, and I do not care for them on iota. When I’ve voiced an opinion over this it’s usually respected, and no one tries to force me (or trick me) into eating any, because as an adult people don’t try and make you eat things you hate. I mean you might do so out of politeness occasionally when the situation dictates, like when you’re at a dinner party and no one thought to ask and you just know they’ve slaved over this slug risotto, but at least you will have control over your own emotions and this probably won’t involve you screaming and hurling your food at people.
5) You don’t have to tidy your room
Well, you do really, and you have to tidy all the other rooms too, but unless you have a particularly weird relationship your dessert/pocket money won’t usually be riding on you doing this. As an adult though, you get to set the bar and dictate the acceptable level of filth you can live with.
6) You can drive!
Oh, the freedom of being able to get somewhere faster than toddler pace. You also get to pick what you listen to when you’re in the car, and where you go, although it’s usually the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack on the way to soft play because this is my life now.
7) A bath is a luxury
…and not something to be suffered through. The joy of a quiet bubble bath cannot be paralleled and it seems like such a waste that my kids don’t recognise this yet…
8) You can dress how you like
One of my ongoing battles with the big one is about what she may and may not wear to preschool. She might only be three but she knows what she likes, and when it comes to clothes she favours dresses; the shorter (she seems to have shot up in a few weeks) and the pinker the better. I favour clothing that doesn’t show her bottom to the world and is a tad more practical, and as her mother, I get the final say (or we just don’t leave the house). I may have uttered the immortal words ‘When you’re grown up you can wear what you like!’ more than a few times this week already. I can wear whatever I can get over my head, although I probably can’t (and definitely should not) show my bottom either.
Same goes for hair
‘Mummy can I have pink hair?’
‘No’ *dyes hair bright red*.
9) You don’t have to share.
As I said in this post, after being yelled at to share for most of your toddler years you grow up and you don’t have to anymore. A bed maybe, but that’s usually with someone you want to share with (at least at first; until you realise they snore and you start plotting their death while they sleep rather than staring lovingly at them… where was I?), and things with ‘sharing’ in the title like starters at Zizzi, and bags of Maltesers; and then only if you feel like it. Those puddings that state they serve two-three? Knock yourself out. I’m pretty sure that’s just a joke.