It didn’t really sink in what had just been asked of me by then 8 year old daughter, until probably a day or so after she asked the very innocent question, as stated above. Please don’t make me write it again….Oh really, humph, ok then: “Mum, in fifty years, how old will you be?”
“Easy peasy,” was my answer, “I will be 82”.
Right so now you know you can work out how old I actually am, but that’s not my problem. It was when the realisation hit me; that I was actually getting older; getting nearer the 40 mark; I am no longer in my twenties (despite what I tell I myself); I am now properly in my thirties.
When I was younger, someone in their thirties seemed like a real grown-up – I’m sure they did to you too.
So when did I become one of those “grown-ups”? Am I truly a “grown-up”? I don’t feel like one. I don’t think I look like one…do I? Does the “grown-up” Fairy pay you a visit while you sleep?
Now I’ll be honest the Husband is older than me, by a few years I grant you, but he is in no way ancient (despite the fact his work colleagues call him “Dad”) – He’s lovely and I love him with all my heart (I know mushy stuff!). But in all honesty, our slight age difference has not helped me and my mental inability to accept that I am aging……I used to, not now, always feel immature and out of place. But like I said, used to. I don’t feel like this anymore….is that because I am growing up?
I never envisaged I would get to my thirties. I could never imagine what they would be like and in all honesty, they don’t feel much different from my twenties. Ok so I have 3 children, 2 step-children, one Husband, 3 cats, etc, etc – but that doesn’t change the fact that in my head (which is sometimes a very odd place to be) I am still 21 years with my whole life ahead of me.
And maybe it is because I am getting older that I can say the next line and truly appreciate it, but the years are just flying by!