21 AGAIN…LITERALLY

Today is my 21st (x2) birthday.

I think that means I get to celebrate twice as hard as I did on my actual 21st.

“Oh, but she looks so young!!” I hear you gasp…(OK; so it’s my blog and I get to write what I wanna!!).

But, the reality is, the husband and I had our kids a little later. For that I am grateful; it worked for us. But it does mean I was the oldest at Mother’s group and my friends can relax at BBQ’s with older kids, whilst I am still jumping up and own like a yo-yo for toilet, tissues and more tomato sauce. I still carry spare undies in my handbag (for the kids, guys, I went OK with the pelvic floor) and I automatically scan a menu to see if they serve hot chips and order immediately.

But do the kids make me young?

Is this up there with the phrase, ‘sleeping like a baby?’

This is so far from my truth right now. My bones ache, my stomach is perpetually stretched and my purse does not extend to the feel good beauty ‘treats’ that I was used to before the kids came into our world.

Sometimes, when I can’t be arsed, I throw myself between my kids on the couch and thoroughly enjoy a good dose of ‘blah’ kids movie/TV/DVD/ whatever. Nothing nonsense. No stress. Simple fun. At these times, I can remember what it was like to be a kid.

On occasion, if I have a night out, I may just spare a thought for the 6am wake-up and have another glass of water. This little bit of self-preservation might go a small way to halting the shopping bags under my eyes.

Often, around about 4pm when the kids are about to start climbing walls and I am exhausted thinking about the dinner battle I am about to head in to, I might start a bit of crazy dancing or silly songs, just to keep myself sane and the kids distracted from destruction. Anyone who walked in, might even consider my behaviour mildly childish.

But this is about the extent of my KIDS KEEP YOU YOUNG argument.

Because, I am still in the thick of being drained of energy day and night by my thirsty, lovely, little vampires.

My hair is grey at the roots. Not ‘normal’ roots either. I am talking the wispy, ‘new’ hair that grew across my forehead with each child. The fuzzy stuff. The really obvious just above my eyes patch.

My witty conversation has changed. No longer can I hold a decent pub chit chat with a stranger. I resort to my staple of mummy jokes and banter. Good for a short while if chatting to a parent, but beyond boring for the cool gang whom I have slowly dropped off from.

All the literature I read, refers to getting a solid night of sleep to refresh and reboot. Though I don’t dread nights like I once did, it is a game of chance as to where we will all be by morning. Oh for those days when I could wake up beside the husband, slip into his cuddle and plan the day ahead. But normally there is a small body somewhere near us, or he has managed a swap with a wriggler during the night. I wake stiff and sore, after spending time frozen for fear of waking a child.

Oh I see those gorgeous shoes in the shop, I flip that price tag around, and I gasp when I consider all the ‘things’ I could buy for the kids with that! I am not a martyr, but some of the fine clothes, beauty products and hair do’s leave me staggering. I am not genetically blessed. It takes money to keep me looking young. Money I am not quite prepared to spend hand over fist.

I was classified as ‘geriatric’ for both pregnancies. Not especially promising in the youth stakes.

I sound like my mother. Every. Single. Day. I hear ‘her’ telling my kids, ‘only boring people get bored’, or ‘Shut the door! Were you born in a tent?’ Now I would be honoured to be a mother like my mum is to me, but still, kinda weirds me out when the words just pop out. Makes me feel like I’ve slipped a generation.

And so on my 21st birthday… (x2, but…whatever…), I am going to recharge, reboot, refresh and even rewind.

Might throw a bit of Bros on, spray about some impulse and eat fat cake. I will actually have a few child free hours, so I may just go a little wild.

Look out world. I am BACK!