My son is conflicted at the moment. He’s struggling to make up his mind about what he wants to be when he grows up. He swings between astronaut, movie director and archaeologist and thinks he has to have decided by the time he’s 16. He’s 5.
Social media and the 24 hour news cycle has given us a whole new perspective and insight into the Olympics than we haven’t been exposed to up tot his point.
Apart from the incredible athletic achievements, we’ve also seen some pretty scandalous goings on, both in and out of competition. But one of the elements that’s come into sharp focus is sexism in coverage of this year’s Games. Continue reading Sexism of Olympic Proportion
My baby was 5 recently.
A whole half a decade.
The time has flown by but of course, like every parent, I can barely remember what life was like without him.
I look at him now – so tall, so grown up, so articulate, so funny, so capable of pushing my buttons at a moment’s notice – and realise how enriched my life has become since he came into it. Continue reading A better person
I am 34 years old. I was 17 seventeen years ago, a fact that freaks me out when I think about it for too long because it feels like it could have been last Tuesday – and that wasn’t too long ago. I appreciate that a 17 year old does not view it from the same perspective. 34 is no next Tuesday to them. I was that fresh-faced soldier horrified by the old person believing we had things in common.
A couple of people from my mother’s generation have told me recently that “I’ve never looked better”, which is very interesting to me because I’ve looked a lot slimmer, younger and less tired.
But I feel good.
Yeah I’ve a few pounds to lose. Yeah I’ve dimples on the inside of my thighs that no amount of exercise is going to improve. And yeah there’s a fine line right now between the use of the phrase “fine lines” to describe my crow’s feet and actually using the correct adjective which should be just plain “lines”. But my God is my confidence through the roof. The insecurities and self-consciousness I experienced painfully through my teens and mildly through my twenties are gone. I feel strong, brave and fearless. I am comfortable in my skin and happy with who I am.
I love how I have such belief in my mothering now. It took some time but I am so sure of what I’m doing, I don’t even wobble any more when my choices in how I parent my son are questioned. I know I know what’s best.
I love the freedom that 34 brings me and how the world is water off a duck’s back when it suits me.
Like dancing in a circle in Awear because the toddler thinks “this is a great song mama” while laughing at the 20 year old sales assistant who is so mortified on my behalf her face looks like I’ve just smeared poo on the wall. Or asking the stupid man with his stinking cigarette to jog on instead of sitting down beside us while we eat our lunch on a sunny day. To quote my very talented, very funny blogger friend Deborah when she wrote on a similar topic recently: “not a single gram of fuck shall be given today”.
I’m living a life I like, with the people I love, doing things I never thought myself capable of doing. I can laugh at myself and don’t care if others laugh at me. Laughing with me is always warmly welcomed and encouraged. I’m really enjoying myself. I think it’s the combination of being in my 30s and becoming a mother, a treasurer of a little soul, that has me this way. I am like Miss Jean Brodie, I am like Monica and Chandler in Friends. I am in the pribe of libe.