I turn 46 tomorrow. This comes as quite a surprise to me as I still feel about 23. Looking in the mirror sometimes shocks me as I don't recognize the face that is staring back. How did so much of my life pass by while I was too busy to notice? It may sound strange but occasionally I do find myself taken aback when Marcel, or even Charlotte, calls me mum. I don't feel it is wrong with the little three: I subconsciously feel old enough to be their mum I guess, but Marcel in particular makes me stop and wonder sometimes. He's six foot tall, has a deep voice and shaves every day! Maybe because I find my life pre-Marcel hard to remember, as if he and I originate around the same time, almost as two halves of the one self, I feel the face that greets me in the mirror ought to be similar in age to his! (No such luck!)
Anyway this started out with a conversation I had today with Anna.
Anna: Today in the playground I was talking to Euan and Rebecca about our mums.
Me: What about?
Anna: Well Euan said he thought his mummy was about 36 or 37. Rebecca said hers was 44 so I just told them that made me the winner because mine was already 45 and turning 46 tomorrow no less - they were all jealous that you won!
Maybe the key to happiness is seeing ageing as a wonderful achievement as you do at six rather than what it feels like at this age: hurtling ever faster towards oblivion...
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