Adulthood.

I lived with my mom till I was twenty-six years old. It. Was. Awesome. Why did I move out? Because I got hitched and my honey's job was in a different state.

Flash forward eight months. I am a bigger baby now then when my mom cooked me dinner every night. Being an "adult" is fucking hard. It's one of those situations (more like a permanent state of being) that you never thought would be as hard as it is; like college without the permanence.

I love, love, love being married, but now that I am here, I'm finding that I am grossly under qualified for my new-ish role. Lucky for me, my husband is disgustingly understanding of my wifely shortcomings. More about him later.

I am slowly filling in the gaps and cultivating news skills. Moving away from home was more difficult than I ever thought it would be, and though I've had multiple mini meltdowns, I am beginning to figure out what kind of adult I want to be.

So, here goes nothing. Adulthood, here I come.