So I'm in twenty nine... slowly approaching thirty, and it is slowly, I'm holding on by my fingertips refusing to give in gracefully. My twenties will soon be a distant memory and I will be at the point where I'll have lived about a third of my life (barring accidents that result in premature death or drastic surgery which means I can lie).
The reason for this age update you ask? Well it seems I've reached a very odd stage in my life and am compelled to share the oddness around. Let's set the scene shall we - most normal twenty nine year olds are at the point in their lives where their finding someone to settle down with. Generally at twenty nine someone will have established a career and will now be looking to meet Mr or Mrs Right. If they're lucky (or unlucky depending on your viewpoint) they might get married and then if they're very very lucky they'll pop out a few babies. Settling down happily, giving in - either/or... it seems now i.e. thirty is the time.
Of course no one is the house of burning bras can lay claim to normality, least of all me - my thirties will, alas not follow the usual path. You see unbelievable though I still find it, I already have a daughter who is now old enough to date and has just gone on her first one! Can I even begin to explain how weird that is? Helping MY daughter to get ready for a date, choosing outfits with her and straightening her hair... never before have I felt the strangeness of my life so keenly and that's without even considering the fact that my youngest will be following suit pretty soon. It was only the other day they were babies and then skipping off to school and now... now... well by the time I'm thirty five I'll have one child at university and one about to go off to college. This basically means as my friends marry and produce offspring for the first time I'll be in a kind of strange little world all of my own.
Now don't get me wrong, I adore my princesses - the idea of being without them is unbearable, I daren't even imagine it. To lose them would destroy me - utterly. But you see what this means - yes? I've always had them, all my adult life has been spent with my children... so what the bloody hell am I going to do when they leave?
As those around me settle down and double up it is seeming increasingly likely that I'm going to turn into the crazy cat lady (the girl's words, not mine). I'll wear tweed jumpers that smell slightly of mould and I'll collect carrier bags and talk to my myriad of feline companions. It is a depressing prospect.
Of course there are alternatives. I could turn into a sort of travelling woman of mystery. Hacking my way through jungles and traversing mountains - though with my luck I'd probably pick up some godforsaken tropical disease and end up being eaten by a jaguar. I could devote my life to charity work and build hospitals and orphanages from scratch or I could go for all those fabulous jobs that I can't now because of the commute - like a six month stint in the Anartic station or writing my way around the world on the back of a motorbike. Yes, there are many alternatives and I'm sure that in a few years when many of my friends are covered in baby sick and are knackered from the extreme lack of baby sleep they'll look enviously at my freedom. But you know what? I'd give just about anything to turn the clock back fifteen years and experience my girls all over again.
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