Growing up

More than having a child ever did, living in a house with a dishwasher and a garden shed makes me feel like I’m expected to be an adult. IT'S FREAKING ME OUT. I hear myself saying absurd things like, “Ooh, I could sand that back and paint it!” For the first time ever, our shopping lists include hose reels and undercoat. I feel like a fraud. I’m scared the Grown Up Police are going to show up at our door, give me the Weed Test (“That one looks pretty so it mustn’t be a weed,” I’d say confidently, thus failing), then confiscate my Bunnings purchases and escort me back to an apartment where I belong.