You're only 16, you don't have a rep yet.

This morning, I've been putting together a CD for my nephews – a.ka. the most adorable nephews on the planet. (Say differently, and I will cut you) I've been trying to find all sorts of fun songs that would pique a 2 year old as well a 7-month-old baby's interests, which is a difficult task under normal circumstances but seeing as I'm not shy about vying (desperately)for the Aunt of the Year spot I was not going to stop until this CD was awesome. I learned from The Bro that Trey loves to boogie, and although Josh isn't very mobile right now it's only matter of time when he will join his brother in keepin' it real. So I went about trying to find them songs to ensure motion in their adorable diapered backsides.

And that's exactly how I ended up perusing the musical library of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Y'all I cannot even describe how much "Parents Just Don't Understand" took me back – to 1988. (Yes. 1988. We are that old.) Instantly, as the first notes of Will Smith's nasally rap played I was taken back to my 1988-90ish years.

A simple time - free of zits and Cranky Meth Head neighbors.

Back when it didn't get ANY cooler than New Kids on the Block, and if you even try to tell me that you were not hangin' tough with your right stuff I will NOT believe you. It's back then that if you were asked out by a boy you would only agree if he would go out with all of your other friends. I remember a particularly serious 3 week relationship with another boy in which we walk around for hours just holding hands. Two tiny, sweaty palms pressed together for what seemed like FOR. EVER. because that's what grown ups did in their relationships, right? And I most definitely remember being completely heartbroken when he left me for some other girl, that skank. Every Rose Has Its Thorn, indeed.

Back when I wanted to grow up and be a nurse, just like my mom. And I spent hours wondering when I would "blossom" because Are You There God? It's Me, Tweets. Life revolved around lunch times and who was sitting at your table. How high and ratted you could torture your bangs was directly proportional to your social life. Braces. Head gear. The running man. It all came flooding back to me.

Hangovers, real heartbreaks, credit card debt, bewbies, layoffs – these we're all yet to come. It was then that I became a little pissed off that I was a grown up. Things were supposed to be different when you were finally a grown up, right? Because to be perfectly honest at age 12 I saw my 26th year going a little different. I figured I would be married (Mrs. McIntyre, if you will), with 2.5 kids, a dog, a white picket fence and large perpetually manicured lawn. And my 26-year-old self would be there watching over it all on a porch swing, in my french cuffed jeans and sipping a strawberry daiquiri. I was from the South, and these were the dreams you had. (Oh, the horrors of being 26 and unmarried.)

And then I thought about my two gorgeous nephews, whose CD started me down this trip of memory lane. I thought about how their little lives are going to play out – and I immediately wanted to call The Bro and tell him did you know that they were going to GROW. UP! Those two are going to be grown ups. Hurry, quick push a Pause button or something because they just can't grow up. It's not all it's cracked up to be.

Oh, and don't let them have credit cards until they're 26. Or 27. Okay, 35.