I know I'm old

I know – I’m old.  I’m 42, oops 43 years old and my life is over. 

At least that’s what my teenagers lead me to believe.  In the words of my 16 years old daughter – “I need to get out and live Mum.  Before I get old and have no life.  This woman came into work today – she was 41.  I don’t want to be like that.”

Yes, 43 and I’m old with no life.  And here I was thinking the total opposite to that.  I was thinking that finally my children are nearly off my hands and I can go back to doing whatever the hell I want.  My husband and I can move out of home and start to see things we have only dreamt about.  You know the things that you couldn’t afford to do with kids.  Don’t get me wrong we’ve had some great family holidays and if I were rich I would love to take my kids with me to see the world.  Only now they are teenagers we would have to take their respective girlfriends and boyfriends with us.  They wouldn’t want to be stuck with just Mum and Dad for company, would they?

I always feared the day that they would grow up.  I could never imagine wanting them to move out of home.  In fact, ten years ago the very thought of it would have made me cry.  But I think that’s what the teenage years are all about.  Who looks at their 6 year old and happily thinks about the day he/she will move out.  Ask that same parent that same question the day she turns 16.  See if you get the same answer. 

I used to think about the mother bird throwing her babies out of the nest and think ‘how could she?’  Now I envy her courage.  Her ability to just do it.  To put her beak up their backsides and push. 

Every time they come home moody or intolerant, or say “What would you know Mum? You’re old’ I sit back and fantasize about getting my size 6 shoe and shoving it somewhere the sun don’t shine.

Please believe me when I tell you I love my kids and I’m actually really proud of the people they are growing into.  I just wish that in their eyes, I didn’t have to grow old as they grow up.