I’ve been thinking a lot about my age the past couple of days.
Be it because of my neck, my current poor health, the issues that this pregnancy has that I have no apparent say on due to my ‘advanced years’ or perhaps it’s S.A.D. Whatever the reason for it, I am acutely aware that I am getting old and I can’t stop it. I keep thinking about when DS starts school, about when PEANUT starts school 😱 I will no doubt raise school gate questions as to whether I’m their mum, or grandma.
I’ve never felt old before but suddenly I do. I’m aware that we shall be shuffling off this mortal coil a lot sooner than DS & Peanut’s piers’ parents and I feel dreadfully guilty for this, having lost both mine already.
I know there’s nothing I can do to change this and hindsight is a wonderful thing but it’s making me panic a little.
This week has seeen the arrival of 2 new babies within my circle of ‘mummy friends’, and their family photos are just gorgeous, then I think of my own… the parents littered with wrinkles that are usually reserved for the grandparents, it’s slightly depressing.
I know I’m not the oldest mum in this town, there are several a couple of years my senior, and one ten years my senior, and they’re just the ones I know of, and I often wonder whether they have the same feelings as I do.
Perhaps it’s a good thing. Perhaps I’m slightly more tolerant because of it. I certainly don’t feel like my life is passing me by whilst I raise my family. Unlike a lot of my younger friends who feel this loss I’ve already done it all so happy to now sit at home most nights watching movies. Perhaps I’m having my midlife crisis.
Either way I’ll love my children until the day I die (hopefully that’ll be in my 90s) and hopefully they’ll be close and love each other so to have each other should we pootle off before our time.
80 days to go