What were your parents doing at your age?
When my mom was 28 turning 29—aka my current, mildly confused but doing-her-best age—she was already deep in Mom Mode.
She had me (nine years old and probably dramatic), my two-year-old brother (sticky), and she and my stepdad were about to get custody of my stepsister. Three kids. One small apartment. And—plot twist—she was just learning to drive.
Ma’am.
Meanwhile, at 28, I am out here trying to peacefully coexist with two dogs who act like unpaid interns with behavioral issues.
I genuinely don’t know how she did it. Three kids in a small space while figuring out adulthood in real time. Learning to drive. Managing custody paperwork. Building a whole stable life from scratch. And she’s still here, still standing, still very much alive and probably shaking her head at me.
The only thing I can confidently say I beat her at? I learned to drive three years earlier than she did. That’s my one flex. My one ribbon. Please clap.
But honestly, it’s wild to compare timelines. At my age, she was building a family of five in a tiny apartment. At my age, I’m building routines, boundaries, and a lint roller collection that rivals a small retail display.
And sometimes I do feel behind. Because society loves a checklist. House. Kids. Stability. Gold star. Meanwhile, I’m over here celebrating when both dogs nap at the same time.
But maybe life isn’t a race. Maybe it’s just different chapters. My mom’s 28 looked like diapers, custody court dates, and driver’s ed. My 28 looks like chew toys, budgeting apps, and trying to remember to drink water.
Both are real. Both are hard. Both count.
And if nothing else, at least I can give her this: she raised three kids before she mastered parallel parking.
I raised two dogs and parallel parked first.
Balance.