The last few birthdays have passed without much drama. I haven't had time to beat my chest and wail at the moon. I've been too busy being pregnant, or celebrating the end of lactation, or being pregnant.
So, with a few weeks to go before my 32nd birthday, I've realised that I'm preoccupied with my lost youth, my changed body, my bad decisions, my creaking bones and my aching joints.
Yes, I know- I should've done all this three years ago- but I was too busy being pregnant (and so on).
Its all so self indulgent- oh, wallow, wallow. waaaaah waaaah. I can just hear people I know reading this, and saying "I wish I had time to worry about such nonsense. At your age I was too busy raising 18 kids down't pit, whilst cooking a meal from nowt but a tatty and a bit a bread dipped round't sink."
I'd tell me to pull myself together if I weren't so busy 'waaaah waaaahing'
I'm spending most nights tossing and turning. Did I make the right choice? Should I've said that? Or not said this? Have I been too safe? Too daring? Too selfish?
I've reverted to my former teen self. Short of a pair of Doc Martins and and some Happy Mondays, I could be a sullen, petulant 15 year old all over again.
To all of you who have been there and done that- Its my go. I'll see you on the other side of my turgid misery.
So there.
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1 comment:
Minks, I'm newly on the other side myself. The water's fine, come on over. Love you. x x
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