25.5.15

More Mutton. Less Mum.

Today I went "up town". I was child free. I was alone. No Mum bag and I like to think if I had hidden my wedding ring? I could have been classed as a cool, hip and trendy single lady. Ala Beyonce. No-one could have noticed that I had been up all night with a poorly tiny son. And OK yeah I had a rain coat with me, you know just in case, but bar that? I was Swifty's older, bustier, sister.

There has been a change of events recently. I'm not sure if it's because those baby days are long behind me and it is possible to get at least a few nights sleep in a row. But I have started to feel a bit more me. However the me that I feel? Is the me before mortgages, marriage and kiddos. Worryingly? I am feeling mid 20's. However? My body is not. I found myself roaming Miss Selfridges trying to work out if I could fit into a super short playsuit without my privates hanging out the bottom. If I would suit a floral crown at 37 and how many pairs of jelly shoes did I need to carry me through the summer.

My ripped jeans. Like the youth.

I can't quite come to terms that I am no longer youth. It's not quite sunk in. There are small tell tale signs such as me being invited to a night out this evening and I honestly would prefer being in my pyjamas with a Malibu and caffeine free diet coke (I can't drink caffeine after 4pm. My pushing 40 body can't cope). I always have a brolly. And I enjoy a slipper more than is reasonable. But with regards to clothes? I still can't quite accept that I am not the same age as the cast of Hollyoaks.

My floral headbands. Like the youth. 

Recently I've brought several pairs of ripped jeans. Like the youth. I own high tops. Like the youth. And my nails are painted a very bright shade of orange. Like the youth. I still can't get my head around the fact that I produced two small people. I think I would seamlessly fit into a trendy night club (the fact I used the word 'trendy'? Proves I would not). But. The REALLY great thing about being a Mum in your late 30s? Is that to be honest? I couldn't give a sh*t.

My perspective has changed. Sure I would heart to be a size 12 and it would be amazing to squeeze even one boob into a Top Shop crop top. But the reality is? I can't. So? I'm going to embrace the bits of youth that still do sit well on the ravaged body of this lady who can't cope with caffeine and enjoys reality TV a little bit too much. 18 year olds may see me as a fruit loop in a floral crown (much like we mocked those 'old people' dancing in The Ritzy when we were young. Bet they were only late 20s. Sob).  But one day it will be their turn. And they will be thinking "Jesus. Is the Bomber Jacket back again?". Just like us.

I wore you in 1994...the youth can have this one.
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