Yep, it’s that time of the year again when I’m staring down a Saga Holiday (see the world! make new friends! we have doctors and defibrillators on board!).
Obviously, I’m not quite there yet, but it’s getting ever closer.
However, the issue of my age was put into startling perspective when The Teenager, whilst hanging off the fridge one day, asked me how old I was when I had him.
’26’.
‘Wow! Like, that’s … like, wow … old, yeah?’.
‘Well, ok, but if you’d behaved yourself and arrived on time, I would have been 25, so ner’.
He was due the day after my birthday but hung around for another week, dozing off every time the midwife wanted a poke around.
‘Hmm, he’s big, isn’t he? You look a little uncomfortable?’
‘Yeah’.
Almost 18 years later, The Teenager was aghast. ‘So, in, like 26 years time, you’ll be, like, 70? If we count your next birthday, which is like, a couple of weeks away? Or 69 if we don’t. To be fair. But, like, wow‘.
When you’re pregnant, they tell you kids will keep you young.
They were wrong.
As The Teenager loves music, I have to play along to ‘Guess The Year’. I’m always a decade or so out. Same for films. And major news stories. Is this what happens in your 40’s?
It’s strange because I seem to exist in a time warp. The Teenager plays almost exactly the same music I did at his age – Oasis, The Verve, The Beatles. He watches the same films. He wears the same clothes as my old boyfriends. And me, apart from the mirrored skirts and stripy tights with Doc Martins.
In fairness, I will grow old disgracefully and fully intend to embrace my hastening years and wear lots of black flowing garments accessorised with large beads and silver bracelets. I envisage giving readings of my eighth bestselling book to hoards of said Teenagers who will be rapt as they listen to me espouse words of wisdom.
In real life? I will no doubt reach 69/70 in the blink of an eye, much like my first 26 years, so I will do my utmost to cram every experience possible into such a slim window.
MS-willing …